


Catch and Release

by KJAnderson



Series: Vroom Chicka Bow Wow [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Breeding, Cages, Chastity Device, Collars, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Dominance, Egg Laying, Energy Field Sexual Interfacing, Explicit Consent, Face-Fucking, Fisting, Gags, Hand Feeding, Human Furniture, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Leashes, Masochism, Massage, Master/Pet, Medical Kink, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Partners, Multiple Sex Positions, Non-Consensual, Non-Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Obedience, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Oviposition, Past Brainwashing, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, Puppy Play, References to Torture, Safeword Use, Size Difference, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Spit Roasting, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Suspension Bondage, Teasing, Threesome, Training, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 57,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17829977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJAnderson/pseuds/KJAnderson
Summary: Barricade has been captured and is currently being held by Autobot Special Operations for interrogation. He is determined to give his captors nothing. Barricade is unaware, though, that he carries a dark secret.This will either be the worst day of Barricade’s life... or the best day of Barricade’s life. He’ll figure out which once he can feel his legs again...





	1. Barricade is Interrogated

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Steena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/gifts).



> Steena, this is all your fault.
> 
> General Warning: This is my side-project. Work on the Transmutation series takes priority, so updates will be irregular.

Barricade was fucked. 

It had only been a skirmish on the edges of Kaon. There were a dozen like it every day as Decepticon and Autobot forces tested each other, waiting for the next major offensive. Barricade had been the unfortunate one to get his ass captured, though. Now the Autobots had him trussed up deep behind Autobot lines, in a shielded interrogation chamber. Barricade tried to use his comm system again, but the shielding stopped any signal from penetrating to the outside.

Barricade wished he could cross his legs, but the way he was secured to the table completely prevented him from moving. Each arm was strapped down at the wrist and the upper arm. Each leg was strapped down at the ankle and upper thigh. There were even bands around his waist, his throat, and his forehead, pinning him tight. The table was inclined at a 60 degree angle, which made the straps feel more like they were cradling him in mid air instead of holding him down.

He still couldn’t move. He’d tried. 

How they hell had they known?

Barricade tried to growl, but the vocal inhibitor around his throat wouldn’t let him. A bit gag was also strapped around his head, not to keep him silent, but to keep him from biting. Barricade smirked. That damn yellow warrior would be feeling that for a while. 

The room was bare except for the inclined table he was strapped down to, and a set of cabinets on the wall. Professional curiosity had him wondering about the contents. Electro whips? Shock wands? He was familiar with them all. Who would be chosen to break him, though?

Barricade went down the list of notable Autobots that he knew, wondering who his interrogator would be. 

Ironhide was too much of a warrior to do interrogation. He was too straightforward. Barricade wondered idly, though, if his cannons were advertisement or compensation. He shivered, briefly rattling his plating before getting himself under control. 

Prime’s second would be an interesting one to match wits with. Prowl was as much of a warrior on the battlefield as he was a strategist in the tactical bunker, and Barricade had always appreciated a fine Praxian frame. Shame they were so rare now. 

Maybe it would be Prime’s head of special operations. Barricade never wanted to meet the mech who could run literal circles around Soundwave. Jazz was supposed to be a hard mech to deceive. A part of Barricade’s mind started wondering if Jazz was equally hard in other areas...

Barricade tried to suppress a whimper, forgetting about the vocal inhibitor. The set up was too perfect. He’d never shared his secret with anyone aside from—

The door, somewhere behind him, softly whooshed open. 

Barricade froze. 

The door softly wooshed shut. The beep of the lock engaging was easy to hear in the absolute silence. Whoever had just walked into the room was absolutely silent. Barricade couldn’t even tell if more than one mech had just entered. 

Whoever it was stayed out of sight, though, allowing Barricade’s tension to slowly increase. The tactic was meant to make the mech being interrogated uneasy and mentally off balance. Barricade hated that it was working. If the vocal inhibitor hadn’t been active, the other mech would have been treated to Barricade’s embarrassingly agitated keening. But there was no sound beyond the sound of his own systems. 

The mech that eventually walked around the side of the table was no one Barricade recognized. But he certainly recognized the frame type. The other mech was a noble, a class that was rarely encountered on Cybertron this far into the war. The mech was slim and elegant, with finely wrought limbs and a deep lusture to his finish that probably required hours to maintain. Barricade had known a mech who had been just as meticulous with his finish... He had the sudden impulse to lick the other mech’s plating.

The noble’s walk was sensuality made metal as he slowly stalked around Barricade, inspecting the subdued mech from head to foot. 

Barricade squirmed. He was still running hot from the skirmish, and the pleasant view wasn’t helping. 

The other mech gave Barricade no clue what he was thinking. His face was an impassive mask as he slowly visually inspected every inch of Barricade’s plating and restraints. His gaze left Barricade’s plating tingling in its wake, as if a cold breeze had tickled the sensors of his increasingly warm body.

The noble stopped at the outer edge of Barricade’s field of view and leaned down, placing his delightfully formed mouth next to Barricade’s head. As the noble moved, Barricade could feel the shifting air currents on his facial sensors.

“Hello Barricade,” he purred directly into Barricade’s sensitive, scout-tuned audial sensors, “you can call me Ligier.” 

A shiver ran down his spine and took root deep in his interface equipment. That voice. He’d once known a mech who could use his voice like that. Unfortunately, they had been lost decades before. Barricade knew ‘Ligier’ probably wasn’t the noble’s real name, but he didn’t care. Ligier could recite the Autobot code for all he cared, just as long as he did it in that same sinful voice. 

Barricade had to use a quick script to keep his fans still despite his steadily rising temperature. He gnawed on the sturdy bit gag in his mouth, using it to center himself. 

Ligier hummed to himself, the slight sound reverberating through Barricade’s chest to his spark, making Barricade whimper soundlessly. Ligier reached out with one hand and — finally! — touched Barricade’s shoulder, stroking his fingers down Barricade’s arm, leaving the plating behind alive with sensation. 

Ligier, meanwhile, was observing Barricade’s unconscious reactions to his touch, and so far his observations were very promising. Ligier had smelled Barricade’s arousal as soon as he’d stepped in the door. The slight trembling in his captive’s frame and the notable rise in body temperature, combined with the fact that Barricade was unconsciously trying to push up into his hand... it all pointed towards a not-entirely unexpected development. Barricade was also trying, poorly, to hide his excited electromagnetic field. 

Ligier allowed himself a brief smirk that Barricade was unable to see. 

“We’ll get to know each other very well,” Ligier said, stepping back from Barricade until he was standing in front of the bound mech. Ligier ran his eyes up and down his captive’s body again, taking one last visual inventory of Barricade’s condition and finalizing his plans for the scene. 

Barricade was in good condition for a mech that had been captured in battle. Medical had fixed him up before special operations was allowed to get their hands on Barricade for interrogation. There were bound to be a couple of weak spots that Ligier would have to look out for, though. Ligier’s gaze lingered on Barricade’s interface hardware for a long moment before he looked up and caught Barricade’s eyes with a cool look.

Ligier turned his back on his prisoner, and went to fetch the tool he’d need for the first part of the interrogation. 

When Ligier turned back towards Barricade, the captive mech could see the light electro-whip Ligier was holding. 

“I'm sure you’re familiar with how interrogations work in the Decepticon Army. I also know this is your first encounter with Autobot Intelligence,” Ligier explained, running the deactivated whip lightly across Barricade’s plating, a light tease before they got down to the good stuff. Ligier could feel the ebb and flow of Barricade’s aroused field as the whip passed over sensitive seams. “You will discover that we do things differently than the Decepticons,” Ligier said in a dispassionate voice. 

The tension Ligier was slowly and expertly building was twisting Barricade up into a knot of pure anticipation. He wanted to beg, but the vocal inhibitor prevented him. He wanted to throw himself open beneath Ligier’s whip, but the straps held him firm. Barricade shivered. He wouldn’t be able to avoid anything the other mech decided to do to him. The thought was at once terrifying... and exciting. He looked deep into the other mech’s eyes, trying to glean some hint about what Ligier was thinking, but the mech’s face gave nothing away.

“I will use this whip to warm you up for the next stage of your interrogation,” Ligier explained to Barricade. “I will not deactivate your vocal inhibitor, because I won’t be asking you any questions. There is nothing you can do or say that will stop this process. All you can do, is accept what you are given.”

The whip activated with a snap. Ligier stepped back and deftly brought it down on Barricade’s right shin. The activated electro-whip left a stinging trail of heat across Barricade’s plating. The power was not enough to mar his finish, but served to sensitize his tactile sensor net along the whip’s path. 

Hiding his pleasure at Barricade’s reaction, Ligier once again brought the whip down across Barricade’s thighs. Barricade tried to yell, but the vocal inhibitor neutralized any sound. 

There wasn’t anything Barricade could do as Ligier proceeded lay down a pattern of lashes from his ankles to his throat. There wasn’t anything he could say. He could only endure as the low-powered whip methodically sensitized his plating, slowly, section by section as it fell in a steady pattern. 

Slowly, Barricade relaxed into the strapping, giving into the sensations of his body. He never noticed when lubricant began to seep out from behind his codpiece and slowly dripped down the inclined table. 

Suddenly, the next lash didn’t come, and the electro-whip snapped off. Barricade looked at Ligier. He never noticed that he had turned off his optical sensors. 

“You liked that,” Ligier purred, his sinfully rich voice at odds with his dispassionate gaze. 

Barricade tried to deny it, but couldn’t even say anything. 

Ligier read the denial in Barricade’s electromagnetic field. He deliberately reached down between Barricade’s legs, telegraphing his movements. Ligier then raised his hand in front of Barricade’s face. There was lubricant dripping from his fingers. Barricade’s field flushed with the realization that it was his own lubricant. 

Ligier’s face showed no expression as he fetched a cloth and delicately wiped his fingers.

Once his hand was clean, Ligier stepped back within reach of Barricade. Instead of reactivating his whip, Ligier’s instead passed his hand lightly over Barricade’s still-sealed interface panel. Whining soundlessly, Barricade tried to strain forward, the light sensation a tease to heated components, but Ligier denied him true satisfaction.

Ligier could still feel the warmth radiating from behind Barricade’s closed panel. Ligier pulled his hand back, and, in one swift move, ignited the electro-ship and swung, catching Barricade solidly across the interface panel. 

Barricade’s mouth fell open in a wordless, soundless scream as his sensitized sensor net tried to process the overwhelming sensation. It was pain. It was pleasure. It was everything and nothing. It was too much but not enough. He needed more, more, more, please more! 

“There it is,” Ligier purred. “That’s what you needed, isn’t it?” He was nearly swamped with the pure wave of lust radiating from Barricade.

Barricade shook in the grip of the overwhelming need swamping his mind, drowning out all coherent thought as blow after steady blow fell on his interface panel.

Until Ligier suddenly stopped. 

Barricade sobbed. Why did Ligier stop?

Ligier could see the question in Barricade’s eyes as the mech snarled silently at him. “If you’re a good mech during questioning, I might be inclined to continue later.” Ligier lightly stroked Barricade’s interface paneling which ached with denied pleasure.

The snarl dropped off Barricade’s face, replaced with silent pleading. Yes, Barricade would like it very much if Ligier would keep whipping his panel. Ligier could see that clearly. 

Ligier hummed and brought down the lash across Barricade’s torso. He could see the disappointment in Barricade’s eyes, but, like Ligier had said earlier, there was nothing Barricade could do. He continued laying down a second pattern of lashes, crossing over the first set until there was hardly an inch of plating left untouched. 

Barricade drifted in a sea of sensation, hanging limply in his restraints. Each blow added a little bit more to his need, a rising tide which threatened to overwhelm him in all the best ways, but if only it was more. His EM field was thick and swirling with unfulfilled lust.

This time, Barricade didn’t take his eyes off of his tormentor as Ligier worked over Barricade with the eye of an artist, only he painted his masterpiece in pained/pleasure. The room was silent except for the hiss-crack of the whip and the pings of heated plating. 

Barricade lost himself in the rhythm of it and let his body go completely limp. There was nothing he could do to mitigate the sting. Nothing he could do to magnify the pleasure. Nothing he could do to influence Ligier. He couldn’t talk. Couldn’t move. He could only accept what he was given.

Gradually, Ligier slowed to a halt. He stood in front of Barricade, the deactivated whip coiled in his hands and a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

Barricade felt warm. Every inch of his plating was hotly sensitive to the smallest breeze in the room. He could even feel the air brush against him as Ligier slowly stepped in a circle around him. 

“What are we going to do with you?” Ligier asked in a wondering tone. He stroked a hand down Barricade’s arm. The rush of sensation from over-sensitive plating made Barricade squirm against the straps, but they still wouldn’t let him move. Hot arousal writhed inside him, but was still not enough to let him come. 

Ligier stood at Barricade’s feet and placed his hands to either side of Barricade’s head. “You...” Ligier said softly as he leaned into Barricade, pressing his body into the table and lighting up sensor nodes from Barricade’s knees to his chest, “...are going to tell me everything you know. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re a good mech, I may just let you come.”

That was the best thing Barricade had ever heard. The heat prickled under his plating, itching his nerves. He gave up, and released the controls on his cooling fans. 

Ligier grinned triumphantly as he heard Barricade’s fans click on. 

“Good mech,” he purred, pushing his torso up and pressing his pelvis against Barricade’s. The wave of sensation as the weight on his chest sensors lifted and the weight on his pelvic sensors increased made Barricade cross-eyed with the overwhelming heat of his need. 

Ligier chuckled as he stepped back, away from Barricade. “Let’s see what you have to say.” He said, reaching up and turning off the vocal inhibitor.

Immediately the room was filled with Barricade’s high-pitched whine. The bit in his mouth did nothing to stop any noises Barricade wanted to make. The bit was only there to prevent him from biting anything that got close to his mouth. 

“Please, please, please, please.” Barricade begged breathlessly, barely coherent. 

Ligier placed one hand over Barricade’s mouth, until the pleading gradually died off. 

Barricade stared at Ligier desperately. 

“Now, be a good boy,” Ligier lightly chided Barricade, stroking Barricade’s head like he would a pet turbohound. Barricade wanted to turn his head into the noble’s hand, but was stopped by the band around his forehead. “You’ll get your reward after I get what I want.” 

Barricade’s gaze dropped to Ligier’s interface panel. 

“No, not that. You haven’t earned that. Before you do, I want to know everything you know about the Decepticons.” Ligier’s deep blue gaze felt like it was boring into Barricade’s very mind and spark. 

“Start talking,” Ligier commanded. 

Desperately, Barricade did. Troop movements, base locations, security codes, it all came pouring out of him in a great rush. 

Barricade wanted so bad he hurt, so he told Ligier everything. Even mess hall rumours were not too insignificant for him to repeat. 

Ligier took it all in, and gently guided Barricade when he started to become lost in old, obsolete details. 

Gradually, Barricade realized that Ligier would reward him for a particularly good piece of intelligence by stroking his plating a few times with the deactivated whip. Ligier didn’t strike Barricade, but he teased the bound mech with the promise of more to come, reminding Barricade of the erotically painful state of his interface hardware, still hidden behind his panel. 

It never even occurred to Barricade to lie.

It felt like he talked forever; like his vocalizer would overheat and burn up from overuse. Still, Barricade kept talking and talking. 

It was Ligier who eventually stopped Barricade’s torrent of words once the mech started stumbling and repeating information too old to be of any strategic value. 

Again, Ligier chose to silence Barricade by holding a hand over his mouth and letting the mech stutter to a stop tiredly. 

Barricade’s mind felt wrung out and empty, while at the same time his body still ached like there was a banked pile of hot coals within him that would only take a slight breeze to fan into flames that would consume him. 

“You have earned your reward,” Ligier said, “however,” he cut Barricade off before the mech could start keening in excitement, “you must not speak a word. Moan, scream, cry out all you like, but not a word or I will stop.”

Barricade’s mouth worked as he chewed at his bit. He wanted to say yes, but he didn’t want to risk it in case Ligier’s ultimatum had already started. In desperation, Barricade snaked his tongue around the bit best he could and lightly licked Ligier’s palm, pleading with his eyes that the other mech would understand what he was trying to say.

Ligier smiled, then pulled back. Turning to the cabinet on the wall, Ligier put away his electro-whip. 

Barricade keened in disappointment. 

Ligier shot Barricade a chastising look before picking out a different model electro-whip and closing the cabinet. 

As Ligier got into position, Barricade noticed that the whip he held was a more powerful model. This one would be even more painful on his already sensitized plating, and could easily cut and burn his finish, down to the first couple of layers of plating. 

Barricade heard the crackle as the whip energized and the sharp snap as it connected with his chest. The burn was intense, spreading out gradually into a generalized pain. The ache behind his interface panel, which had never really gone away, now it reawoke into a blazing inferno.

It was hard to remember not to beg at first, and Barricade bit down hard on the bit in his mouth to remind himself. Soon enough, though, Barricade was completely incapable of any coherent thoughts, much less coherent words. Barricade’s moans and screams rose and fell as Ligier’s whip struck him again and again in a new pattern across Barricade’s body. 

Barricade didn’t notice as Ligier moved in between Barricade’s spread legs until suddenly the electro-whip came down solidly on the panel covering Barricade’s interface equipment. 

The whip burned, and Barricade ROARED. 

Ligier watched carefully as the straps holding the mech creaked as Barricade threw himself against them. Barricade’s pain and pleasure laced field pulsed against Ligier, and it was a battle for him not to get swept away in Barricade’s increasing excitement.

Blow after blow fell in between Barricade’s legs, around the joint where hips met thighs, the inside of the thighs, and over his interface panel. 

Again and again and again. 

Barricade’s voice rose as the heat behind his panel rose. Lubricant dripped plentifully from behind the panel, soaking the table and hissing as the electro-whip came into contact with droplets. 

“Open!” commanded Ligier over the sound of the whip and Barricade’s passionate screaming. 

Mindlessly, Barricade obeyed, not even considering the possibility that Ligier might choose to bring the whip down on his spike or on his valve. Barricade didn’t care. 

His panel sprung free, allowing his spike to finally pressurize fully. It was a release, and it threw Barricade off the cliff. He came, hard, without even a hand being laid on him. His spike erupted with transfluid and his empty valve clenched down hard on nothing, trying to milk a non-existent spike. 

All Barricade could think about was his release. He didn’t even realize that Ligier had stopped the whipping. Barricade was trapped in an endless loop of pain-pleasure-pain-pleasure until his systems overloaded and he was thrown into unconsciousness from the overwhelming input.


	2. Mirage is Debriefed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you haven't figured out, I'm not going to let canon get in the way of hot robot fucking. You have been warned.

Minutes later Ligier slipped out of the interrogation room and into the observation room next door. Behind him, the table holding Barricade had been lowered until the mech was lying flat, sleeping the sleep of the well-fucked. A couple of medical-grade transfusion lines hung above Barricade, supplying the unconscious mech with much-needed energon and lubricant. 

Ligier took a moment as the door closed to mentally rearrange himself into Mirage.

Jazz, who had observed the interrogation remotely, was sitting in a chair, waiting patiently for Mirage’s report.

Mirage could see that Jazz was not unaffected by what he had watched. Jazz was slouched in the chair with his interface hardware exposed and spike fully pressurized. Mirage could also see the lubrication beading the edges of Jazz’s channel. 

Mirage yearned, but he was well trained. He knelt to show that he was ready and waited, stilling the urge to squirm under Jazz’s intense gaze. Mirage was not unmoved by the heat and unselfconscious passion of the captive mech he had toyed with, and the sensation of subdued charge barely crackling underneath his plating left him hungering for something he could not have.

Jazz made Mirage wait several agonizingly long moments before he raised a hand and gave Mirage the signal to come. 

Well trained, Mirage gracefully and silently rose and crossed the room without undue haste and knelt at the feet of his commander and master. 

Jazz spread his knees even wider before giving Mirage the signal for the service he required from his tamed noble. 

At Jazz’s sign, Mirage leaned forward and slowly kissed Jazz’s valve, nuzzling the plush lips with his own. Gradually, he parted his lips and delicately lapped at the exterior folds, teasing the exterior sensor nub with brief, soft touches. 

Mirage glanced up at Jazz’s face, searching for his master’s approval as he continued to worship the valve with short, soft strokes around the edges of the lips. Both of his hands stayed firmly planted on his thighs, away from his own warm interface paneling.

Jazz laid a possessive hand on the head of his submissive. “So,” he broke the silence, “that was unexpected.”

Mirage made a soft affirmative sound, but did not pull away as he licked deeper into Jazz’s channel, nuzzling the exterior node with the bridge of his nose. 

With a pleased hum, Jazz finally broke and grabbed Mirage’s head, holding it still so that he could grind his valve against Mirage’s face and firmly stimulate his exterior node against the bridge of Mirage’s nose. It wouldn’t be enough to get him off, but it was still very, very pleasant. Jazz’s desire-warmed field rippled across Mirage’s own.

“Not exactly the interrogation practice that I intended for you to get.” Jazz loosened his hold and stroked Mirage’s head, mirroring his reassurance in his EM field to show his submissive that he wasn’t upset. “You changed strategies so seamlessly I doubt that Barricade even noticed.”

Mirage’s field was warmly satisfied by Jazz’s praise. However, after hundreds of training sessions with Jazz, Mirage knew better to respond verbally until he had been given permission. He continued to attend to Jazz’s valve, steadily growing the smaller mech’s charge exactly the way Jazz liked it. 

“You got more information out of him than I was expecting,” Jazz praised Mirage. “The useful stuff will need to be verified, but if it’s accurate it’ll be the biggest dump of Decepticon intelligence we’ve ever gotten, aside from that time I raided the main computer in Darkmount.” 

Jazz chuckled as he felt Mirage’s mixed reaction to the news through his field. “Yes, you’ll have a large part in verifying Barricade’s intelligence,” Jazz addressed Mirage’s most likely source of discontent. It would mean more work for the mech away from base and his dominants. A fact that left Mirage even more appreciative for what he had every time he returned from a mission. 

Jazz tapped Mirage’s forehead to draw his attention away from Jazz’s valve and back to his master. “That’s enough,” he commanded. “Present.” 

Mirage pulled away from Jazz’s warm valve and gracefully extricated himself from between Jazz’s legs. He moved back three paces and knelt down again, his hands still obediently on his thighs and eyes demurely lowered. Like a rolling wave, Mirage’s interface panel transformed out of the way, leaving him completely exposed to his master’s gaze. 

Jazz inspected his submissive’s accessories. Everything was still in place, as expected. The spike cap covered Mirage’s recessed spike, muting external stimulation, preventing it from extending, and drawing off excess charge that could trigger an overload. The chastity seal covered Mirage’s entire valve, and had similar functions. It inhibited lubricant production in order to prevent a backup of fluid from building up behind the seal, as well as preventing orgasm by drawing off excess charge. It also covered the exterior sensor, rendering Mirage’s valve largely numb to external stimulation. 

Mirage trembled minutely under Jazz’s inspection. Even with all of his training, Mirage couldn’t completely stop the involuntary movement. This time Jazz had kept Mirage in chastity for over a week. He was not allowed to overload, or even to build up a charge. He was allowed one period every day when the chastity would be removed for cleaning and maintenance. However, it could only be removed by Jazz or one of his other dominants. Mirage was not allowed to climax, and any violation was strictly punished. 

It wasn’t the longest period Jazz had kept Mirage in chastity, indeed, aside from his missions, the majority of Mirage’s time on base was spent in chastity. Mirage luxuriated in every gloriously frustrating minute it lasted, just as much as he yearned for the next time one, or both, of his seals would be removed and he’d be at the mercy of Jazz, or one of his other dominants.

Jazz noticed Mirage’s trembling and smirked. “Good mech,” he praised. 

Mirage glowed under his master’s praise. 

Jazz snapped his fingers and pointed in front of him. 

Mirage shuffled closer until he was between Jazz’s legs again. His gaze was fixed on Jazz’s dripping valve. 

Jazz chuckled and leaned down, taking Mirage’s chin in his hand and tipping Mirage’s face upwards. 

Mirage perked up when he saw that Jazz had picked up a small cube of energon and was holding it in his hand. 

Jazz dipped two fingers into the open cube and held them just above Mirage’s lips, which parted sweetly so that Mirage could lick at the droplets on the tips of Jazz’s fingers. 

Mirage whimpered wordlessly and Jazz lowered his fingers into Mirage’s receptive mouth. Mirage closed his eyes as he suckled at Jazz’s fingers sensually, mimicking his skills with a spike. 

The door behind Mirage opened, but he paid it no attention. He didn’t need to, he knew from the mech’s field who it was. His master would let him know if it was something he needed to be concerned with. 

Mirage received a routine querying comm ping from the dominant that had just entered the room. He returned it with a brief affirmative signal.

“I see it went well,” Ratchet said wryly, watching as Jazz eased his fingers out of Mirage’s mouth. 

“Very well,” Jazz said, dipping his fingers in the energon again and feeding them to Mirage. He looked up at the Autobot CMO. “He was very enthusiastic.” Jazz didn’t clarify which of the two mechs participating in the interrogation room had been enthusiastic.

Ratchet opened the door to the interrogation chamber and saw Barricade only lightly singed by what looked like the expert touch of a mid-strength electro-whip. His interface equipment was still shamelessly uncovered and the sharp-ozone smell of a massive overload was still fresh in the air. All signs pointed to one very satisfied Decepticon. 

Jazz smirked in the face of Ratchet’s questioning look. “Turns out Barricade is a bit masochist. Mirage had him squirming for more as soon as he laid the whip on him,” he said while continuing to slowly hand-feed Mirage energon drop by drop — to his submissive’s obvious enjoyment.

“A touch of the whip, and Barricade spilled everything he knew. He even came without any additional stimulation to his equipment.” Jazz’s smile widened as Ratchet’s look turned more incredulous. “I can send you the footage.” Appropriately edited for security, Jazz left unsaid. 

It was Jazz’s offer to share the footage with him that decided Ratchet. Jazz knew about the medic’s aversion to the darker deeds that often happened in the interrogation chamber. Ratchet would patch up the prisoners who broke only after harsh interrogation, but that didn’t mean that he could live with witnessing it first-hand, and Jazz understood that. 

“Looking to collect another one, Jazz?” Ratchet asked wryly. 

“Why not?” Jazz replied. “It worked out very well last time.” 

Jazz pulled his fingers out of Mirage’s mouth one last time, displaying his pleasure in his field when Mirage kept his face elevated. “Open.” Jazz tapped Mirage’s lips, which obediently parted. Jazz carefully poured the remaining energon into Mirage’s mouth, his submissive swallowing easily. The skill had been hard learned. For months after Mirage had come to the Autobots, the only way he had been allowed to fuel was at Jazz’s hands. Now, it was his reward.

Ratchet shook his head. “Barricade is not Mirage, Jazz.” 

“No, Mirage is Mirage and Barricade is Barricade,” Jazz said simply. “I believe that Barricade will be quite sweet once he is trained to hand.” 

Ratchet shrugged. He could see that Jazz’s mind was made up. 

After Ratchet had entered the interrogation chamber, Jazz set aside the empty cube and cradled Mirage’s cheek in his hand.

“Better?” he asked softly, running his thumb across Mirage’s cheekbone. 

Mirage nodded silently. 

“You’ve done a very good job today,” Jazz said. His praise sent sensual tingles up and down Mirage’s back. The charge in his interface equipment rose slightly, and was dispersed by his chastity seals. Mirage enjoyed the spark-deep pleasure and contentment at pleasing his master, as well as the frustrated pleasure of an overload denied. 

“Now,” Jazz said, widening his legs again and slouching back in the chair, “finish what you started.” 

At Jazz’s first signal, Mirage leaned forward and took the tip of Jazz’s spike in his mouth and held it there, not moving. Jazz’s hands moved to Mirage’s head, caressing him reassuringly before taking a sold grip and pulling Mirage’s head forward firmly and mercilessly, steadily sheathing his spike to the hilt in Mirage’s throat. Mirage’s throat had been trained as rigorously as any other part of Mirage for his dominant’s pleasure, and opened smoothly before Jazz’s spike. 

Jazz relentlessly continued until Mirage’s lips touched Jazz’s interface equipment, then held Mirage still, until Jazz felt his final surrender as Mirage relaxed fully into Jazz’s control and stopped fighting his domination. Jazz sat there for several minutes, using Mirage’s mouth as a warm sleeve for his spike, controlling all motion, forcing Mirage to accept what was being done to him. Mirage gave over control joyfully as Jazz finally pulled back and started spiking his throat increasingly forcefully, until, finally, his master’s charge spiked in overload. 

The static aftershocks of Jazz’s overload crackled across Mirage’s face and lips, travelling down his throat along with the flow of ejaculated lubricant. Mirage’s throat worked to pull the fluid down his esophageal tubing. The same motion massaged Jazz’s slowly softening spike.

Jazz released his iron grip on Mirage’s head. 

As Mirage gently pulled off of his master’s spike, he closed his eyes and nuzzled Jazz’s bared equipment. Mirage knew he would not be permitted an overload, but that wasn’t the point. Mirage’s reward was his service to his master, the mech who let Mirage be the purest expression of who he felt himself to be.

Jazz groaned as he rolled his hips up against Mirage’s face. 

Mirage took the opportunity to lightly kiss Jazz’s valve. 

“mmMMmmhh....” Jazz made an appreciative, encouraging moan. 

Mirage smiled in pleasure and licked a broad stroke up the center of Jazz’s valve and over his node. 

“Gently...” Jazz softly chided Mirage, but the rebuke was without heat. 

They sat there quietly, Mirage slowly and gently licking and nibbling at Jazz’s valve until Ratchet came back from checking Barricade.

Ratchet raised an eyebrow when he saw the position Jazz and Mirage were in before sitting down on a seat facing Jazz and crossing his legs casually.

“So, how’s he doing doc bot?” Jazz said still lazy from overload. 

“Besides the superficial scorching, his fluid levels are good, but I want to keep track of his protoform health. He shows signs of long-term deterioration from poor maintenance and self-care.” Ratchet tapped his finger tips against his ankle. 

:Did you check underneath the armor on his upper right arm?: Mirage commed, not pausing his attentions. 

Ratchet nodded, though Mirage couldn’t see him at that angle. “It was as you suspected. The brand was burned into the inside of his armor. It healed well, so we don’t need to worry about infection or corrosion.”

“If he’s got that brand, it’s not his physical health we’ll need to be worried about,” Jazz pointed out. He could feel Mirage’s shiver against him as apprehension threaded through his submissive’s field. Jazz as well as Ratchet modulated their fields with a strong dose of reassurance.

Ratchet passed a hand tiredly down his face. “I hate to say it, but that brand makes Barricade an even better candidate for conversion,” he said. 

“I’ll need to get Prime’s approval first,” Jazz said. Through Prime understood that it had to be done, Optimus was occasionally squeamish about the process, though he appreciated the results. 

“You’ll have my support.”

Jazz could see Mirage looking at him from where he was facing Jazz’s interface array. Mirage had a hopeful look in his eyes.

“It’ll take time to get him used to the idea and to break him in,” Jazz pointed out, redundantly. Ratchet had been there for the entire process Jazz had gone through with Mirage. 

“Let me know when you decide what style frame he’ll be transferring to,” Ratchet said. 

Jazz nodded. “Of course.” 

Medical would determine the list of parts for Barricade’s new frame, but it would be Jazz’s people acquiring them. If you wanted to keep something hidden, there was nobody better than the special ops department’s supply officer. 

‘Mirage’ wasn’t Mirage’s original name after all, and his current body wasn’t his original body either.

Ratchet uncrossed his legs with a thump, slapped his hands on his knees and stood up. Standing, he pulled a case out of subspace and set it on the table next to Jazz. “While I’m sure you have your own medical and aftercare kits, here are more medical supplies specific to what Barricade needs. I’ve even included a selection of mineral supplements for Barricade,” Ratchet smirked. “The twins made them.” 

Despite his training, Mirage gave an involuntary whine and buried his face back into Jazz’s valve. When he’d first been captured by the Autobots, Mirage had also needed supplements, but had not trusted Ratchet. The twins had made the supplements into energon candies that Jazz had started using for training rewards. Even now, there was little Mirage wouldn’t do for a magnesium crunch. 

Ratchet set a smaller box on top of the first. :Here’s a few extra if you want to give Mirage additional incentive,: he said, suggestively, on a tight-beam comm with Jazz so Mirage wouldn’t hear. 

A glint flashed across Jazz’s visor as quick as his grin, and the smaller box disappeared into his subspace.

“Thank you very much,” Jazz said. “And I’m sure Mirage would love to thank you as well.”

“I suspect you’ll have him too wrung out to think by the time you’re done with him,” Ratchet said wryly.

“Would you like to work off some charge first?” Jazz asked Ratchet suggestively, a shit-eating grin on his face. Jazz spread his legs wider, throwing them over the arms of the chair he was sitting in. “I’m all lubricated up, and no spike available.” 

Mirage, his spike firmly sealed in chastity, couldn’t serve his master that way, though he very much wanted to.

Ratchet grinned back, and swiftly transformed his interface cover, revealing his spike which quickly pressurized. He deftly palmed it in one hand, drawing lubrication from the crown down to the base. “Are you sure you can handle me?” he said, approaching to stand above the seated Jazz. 

A gentle tap from Jazz had Mirage gracefully withdrawing from his master’s valve and moving out of Ratchet’s way. Mirage settled on his knees next to Jazz’s chair, in a perfect position to observe and respond if his master or dominant needed him.

There was a challenging gleam in Jazz’s visored eyes as he rolled his hips vainly against nothing. “I’m so ready I could take Prime without prep.” Jazz’s smile was pure sin wrapped in velvet. “If you need some help, though, I’m sure Mirage would be able to provide adequate... inspiration.”

“I’m sure,” Ratchet said dryly, but he didn’t give Mirage the signal to come to him. After the prolonged tease that was Jazz and Mirage’s show, combined with the ozone scent of Jazz’s overload, and the overwhelming lust permeating Jazz and Mirage’s fields, it was only his medical coding that had kept Ratchet able to do his job professionally. For medics, coding meant that the job took precedence over pleasure — at least, until the job was done. Then, pleasure was always welcome. 

Mirage had a front row seat as Ratchet took two long strides to cover the remaining space between him and Jazz. Ratchet wrapped his arms around each of Jazz’s legs, placing his hands on Jazz’s aft and pulling the smaller mech into the air, where he spiked Jazz’s valve with one swift stroke. 

Mirage shuddered as Jazz wailed. Ratchet’s spike stretched his valve in all the right ways, the slight pain spicing his pleasure as interior nodes were roughly stimulated. Jazz’s mouth hung open for a long moment as he rode the initial wave of overwhelming sensation. 

Then, using his core strength and flexibility, Jazz pulled his head and shoulders up until he was able to grip Ratchet’s shoulders.

“Is that all you got?” Jazz asked cockily, his face even with Ratchet’s chest plating.

“You want it?” Ratchet asked, pumping steadily into Jazz’s well-lubricated valve.

“Of course I want it. When have I never wanted it?” The overwhelming eager need in Jazz’s field underscored just how much the mech wanted it.

Ratchet used a medic’s strength, needed to wrestle recalcitrant patients on the battlefield, to pull Jazz completely off of his spike. Ratchet paused for a moment, holding Jazz in the air above his spike as he triggered his spike modification. Expandable ribbing gradually appeared, protruding from Ratchet’s spike, adding a slight bit more girth, and a lot more sensation for Jazz as Ratchet suddenly, harshly, sheathed his spike in Jazz. A shudder rippled Mirage’s plating as his master screamed in pleasure.

With each slow withdrawal Jazz keened softly as every single ridge slowly brushed over his sensitive nodes as Ratchet’s spike left him empty. The return thrust followed shortly, driving the smaller mech momentarily silent with the sudden overwhelming force of all those ridges again. 

And again. 

And again. 

Jazz overloaded with a scream. 

The electrical discharge snapped across Ratchet’s interface hardware and through his spike, triggering his own overload. 

Jazz hung limply, shuddering through his climax, clinging to Ratchet’s shoulders as Ratchet shallowly thrust into Jazz a few more times, excess lubrication dripping from Jazz’s valve. 

Jazz whined as Ratchet’s spike ridges dragged against his suddenly over-sensitive sensor net. 

Ratchet’s thrusts slowly came to a stop. He held Jazz’s hips tightly, his spike still buried in the smaller mech’s valve.

They stood there while sensors recalibrated and both mechs came down from their passionate high. 

“Primus, I needed that,” Jazz finally said, shakily.

Ratchet gently withdrew from an overload-limp Jazz. 

Mirage stood as Ratchet lowered Jazz, helping the unsteady mech lean against Mirage for support. 

Ratchet pulled a spare cloth out of his subspace and wiped excess lubricant off his spike and thighs before retracting his spike and closing his interface paneling.

Mirage’s field where it brushed up against Ratchet’s was pure need of the most sensually torturous kind. Checking the classified spec ops assignment roster, Ratchet could see that Mirage had a couple of days before his next mission, and Mirage was never sent on a mission in this state. :You releasing Mirage today?: Ratchet commed Jazz so that Mirage wouldn’t hear, and spoil his anticipation.

Jazz just nodded.

“Why don’t you send Mirage to my quarters when your done with him for today,” Ratchet requested. Mirage would need time to rest and recover, but Ratchet was less tough on his toys than Jazz was.

Jazz chuckled as Mirage’s field registered strong approval and anticipation. The affirmative ping to both dominants was eager.

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” Jazz chided his submissive as Ratchet walked out the door to go back to the medbay, his stride noticeably looser than before. “You still need to finish your assignment. Clean me up so you can get started.”

Mirage deftly buffed Jazz’s spike clean with a soft cloth so that Jazz could retract his spike and close the cover. Cleaning his master’s valve took slightly longer, as lubricant continued to trickle out after his coupling with Ratchet. Mirage had to avoid stimulating the valve too much while still cleaning the lubricant off. Which sounded easier than it was.

Eventually, Jazz declared Mirage’s efforts satisfactory and closed his panel. 

Mirage stood up and walked across the room to fetch the aftercare kit spec ops kept in the observation room. Fortunately, it had been restocked by the last mech to use it. The one time Hound had forgotten had not been pretty, but the public punishment had been an effective reminder. The interrogation chambers were a popular fucking venue for the more adventurous members of spec ops, which was all of spec ops, because they were a group of kinky mechs, Mirage thought fondly. If they wanted to keep using it, they had to help keep it maintained.

Mirage turned around and saw Jazz’s wide grin. His attention was focused on Mirage’s still-bared interface equipment. Mirage hadn’t been given the command to close his panel, after all. He set the case on the table next to Jazz and knelt down before his master. 

“Good mech,” Jazz said, leaning back. “Now, cover up and attend to the next step of Barricade’s instruction.”

Permission given, Mirage closed his covers and used a spare wipe to clean the excess lubricant off of his face and neck cables. He picked up the aftercare kit and supplement treats and re-entered the interrogation chamber. He could feel his master’s gaze as if it was a physical weight on his back through the security monitors. Putting back on his persona, he brought Ligier to the front and went back to his task.


	3. Barricade Meets Jazz

Barricade woke to warmth and smooth strokes of a soft cloth on his plating. He luxuriated in the ripple of gentle pleasure it caused across his sensor net. Not enough to get him off, or even to warm him up, it was pure platonic tactile pleasure. Barricade became aware of the weight of a temperature-regulation blanket spread over him, a soft comfort pressing down on him. 

It was hypnotically calming. 

It was wrong.

Barricade woke to his battle programming surging online, weapons systems bypassing safety locks and targeting protocols struggling to draw and aim missing weaponry. He lunged forwards, snarling, with claws outstretched to rend his attacker into pieces...

...only to thrash impotently against the straps that still held him down tightly. The straps creaked, but showed no sign of weakening. Barricade’s claws kneaded the air impotently as he rode the wave of code-driven aggression. 

Gradually, Barricade became aware of a soft humming next to his head. There was a mech standing next to him. Their relaxed field brushed up against Barricade’s, calming his own.

Barricade realized that he was looking at the ceiling of the interrogation room. While he was unconscious, the table had been lowered until he was lying flat.

Barricade turned his head and saw Ligier standing next to him on his right side. Ligier was not looking at Barricade, instead he was holding a soft buffing cloth and lightly buffing out the series of whip marks on Barricade’s arm. 

Barricade realized suddenly that he had turned his head to see Ligier. The strap across his forehead was missing. Strangely, his head felt lighter than before. Barricade didn’t know what to make of it.

Ligier glanced up at Barricade’s confused snarl. “There you are,” Ligier said with a small, contented smile, and turned back to buffing away Barricade’s damage.

Barricade was as confused by Ligier’s reaction as he was by the mech’s continued gentle touches. Ligier couldn’t have missed how Barricade had just wanted to kill him. Granted, Barricade was so thoroughly strapped down Ligier had been in no danger. 

Ligier’s gentle massage soothed Barricade’s overreacting battle systems, his soft touches and smooth movements lulling Barricade back towards recharge. Barricade turned his face back towards the ceiling and shut his eyes. He was still worn out from his massive overload earlier. Though his fluid levels had apparently been topped off while he was asleep, his plating was still hyper sensitive and his body was gradually making him aware of how sore he was.

Barricade relaxed, and his field finally relaxed and smoothed out as well.

Ligier’s gentle touches gradually stopped. 

Barricade wanted the touches to come back. Instead, a gentle tap on his cheek caused him to open his eyes. A hand appeared in front of his face. It was Lieger, and he was holding something in front of Barricade’s nose. Something that smelled delicious. 

Barricade lunged for the treat but his mouth was stopped just short of Ligier’s fingertips by the band across his chest. 

“Ah,” Ligier chided Barricade gently, with another soft smile. “Ask nicely.”

Barricade ignored Ligier and focused instead on the treat, waiting to see if Ligier’s hand would waver and allow him to snap it up. He quickly became impatient and tried again, his sharpened teeth snapping shut just short of Ligier’s fingertips. 

The other mech didn’t even flinch. 

“Do I need to teach you how?” Ligier asked, sounding disappointed and pulling the treat back. 

Barricade whined as he saw the treat recede. 

“Use your words,” Ligier chided.

Barricade didn’t want to. Unlike yesterday, when he’d broken in a haze of lust and pain, he was fully conscious of what he was doing. Saying it out loud, admitting to what he wanted, made it too real. It was one thing to be seduced and interrogated by a skilled special operations mech. It was something quite different to start asking for it.

Barricade laid there, stubbornly not looking at Ligier. The other mech’s gaze was like a heavy weight on his chest. 

Treats were a rare indulgence this far into the war. As civil war spread across Cybertron few mechs had the resources, much less the time or skill, to create something so frivolous. 

Barricade’s stubbornness was no match for Ligier’s patience, however. 

Barricade turned his head toward the ceiling, carefully not looking at Ligier. “Please,” Barricade mumbled shortly.

“Please what?” Ligier said patiently. 

Barricade turned his head away from Ligier’s knowing gaze and squirmed. “Please...”

Ligier considered Barricade’s reluctant plea. “Say, ‘Please may I have a treat,’” he coached Barricade. 

Barricade wanted to disobey. But disobeying wouldn’t get him the treat, or more of Ligier’s gentle touches. “Please.. may I have a treat?” 

It was grudging and half mumbled, but it was what Ligier had wanted. He didn’t want to push Barricade too far too soon, after all. 

“Look towards me,” Ligier commanded lightly, testing Barricade’s reactions to his orders. 

Barricade turned his head towards Ligier. 

Ligier smoothly popped the treat in to Barricade’s half open mouth. Barricade didn’t even have the presence of mind to try to nip at Ligier’s fingers. 

Barricade slowly sucked on the treat as Ligier went back to massaging the scorch marks from Barricade’s plating. 

Ligier hummed tunelessly as he moved around Barricade, adjusting the blanket so that he stayed covered except for the part Ligier was working on. Clever fingers smoothed out kinked cables and teased sensitive nerve wiring. 

Barricade’s arousal slowly, torturously grew. Instead of the wild, unrestrained drive off a cliff that was his earlier overload, this time his arousal was skillfully brought to a slow, gentle simmer. 

During his massage Ligier also applied a gel coating to Barricade’s sore, lightly singed plating. From the scent, Barricade could tell that it was medical. Whatever it was, it soothed the slight burn left behind by the electro-whip, and Ligier’s massage left behind a slowly stirring warm arousal that was beginning to drive Barricade crazy.

The gel candy had dissolved long ago, and Barricade wondered if Ligier had any more. He wriggled slightly in the strap’s embrace. “Please, may I have another treat?” he asked clearly. He figured it was worth a try.

Ligier looked up and nodded, pleased at Barricade’s unprompted request. He pulled out another candy and slipped it into Barricade’s open and waiting mouth. 

Barricade wasn’t well behaved this time, and swiftly caught two of Ligier’s fingers in his teeth, holding them tightly, just short of denting the delicate mechanisms. 

Ligier froze and gave Barricade a frosty, forbidding look. “Give them back,” he ordered sternly. The easy smile he’d had while working on Barricade was gone. Ligier was once again the stern, impassive noble who had relentlessly whipped Barricade into a screaming overload. 

Barricade smiled around Ligier’s fingers, and licked at the fingertips. He could taste the slick residue of the medical polish Ligier was using combined with the sweet taste of the melting candy. Gently, Barricade closed his lips over the fingers, sucking them in further, even as he released them from the punishing grip of his teeth. 

Ligier could easily pull his fingers out of Barricade’s mouth, but he needed to make a point to Barricade. Ligier left his fingers in the heat of Barricade’s mouth, resting firmly on his tongue. 

Barricade gave Ligier what he hoped was a flirtatious look. 

“I won’t ask again,” Ligier said, forbiddingly. 

Disappointed that Ligier wasn’t flirting back, Barricade reluctantly opened his mouth, freeing Ligier’s fingers. 

Ligier didn’t immediately remove his fingers from Barricade’s mouth. Instead, Ligier firmly pushed down on Barricade’s tongue. Barricade obediently moved his lower jaw, opening his mouth wider at Ligier’s unspoken command. 

“Do you want more treats?” Ligier asked. 

Barricade’s simmering lust cooled under the influence of Ligier’s unhappy field. He nodded, careful not to dislodge Ligier’s fingers. 

“Use your voice,” Ligier reminded Barricade sternly. 

“...yes,” Barricade said softly, reluctantly. 

“Behave, and you will be rewarded,” Ligier laid out his expectations for Barricade. Ligier watched as Barricade clearly struggled to accept the restrictions placed on him. The bound mech’s eyes turned away, restless. 

“Going to train me like you do your turbohound?” Barricade asked bitingly. In reality, he wasn’t sure he’d say no if that was what Ligier wanted. 

“If that is what you want,” Ligier responded. He could see that Barricade was thinking now, and that was what Ligier wanted him to be doing. 

Barricade was confused. 

What did Ligier mean, ‘if he wanted it?’ Why did it matter what Barricade wanted? Ligier had won. Barricade was tied up and helpless before him. Ligier could do anything he wanted to Barricade. Instead, the mech had been almost gentle. Yes, Barricade was sore after being whipped into a screaming orgasm, but it was the satisfied soreness of a hard frag, not the sharp pain of a torture session. He’d been fueled. Ligier was even tending the surface burns left by the whip instead of leaving them for Barricade’s autorepair. 

Barricade had too many questions and not enough information to answer them.

Ligier noticed Barricade’s confusion. “Barricade, tell me what you need,” Ligier ordered gently.

“I...” Barricade fitfully started to say, but the words were frozen in his throat. Thinking about it brought the simmering tension of arousal back to the front of his mind. He wanted... He wanted...

Ligier pulled another treat out of the box and held it above Barricade’s mouth. “Tell me, and you can have another treat,” he said coaxingly. 

Unlike before, all Barricade had to do was lean his head up and he could nip the treat from Ligier’s fingers. But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at the treat, and followed Ligier’s command. “I want to do it again,” he confessed, softly, almost whispering. As if a dam had burst, the words started rolling out of him. “I was afraid at first, pretended to be strong, but the bonds held me so firmly, the whip... it hurt, but it felt so good,” he keened sharply in remembered pleasure. “You know what I mean, I mean, you probably don’t know what I mean, but the pain and the pleasure and the pain and the pleasure, it was better than anything I’d ever done before. I always thought fragging was nice, but that was amazingly better. I came without being touched didn’t I?” Barricade looked at Ligier expectantly, squirming in shame and the unfamiliar pleasure of following orders.

Smiling now, Ligier brought his hand down, slipping the treat between Barricade’s lips, and resting his palm across Barricade’s mouth. 

Barricade obediently went silent, sucking on the treat. 

“Yes, I know what you mean by the pain becoming pleasure becoming pain,” Ligier confided in the mech below him. 

Barricade didn’t believe him. The idea that somebody could order Liger around struck him as ridiculous. 

“You’ll find that there are others here who share your interests, and who would be willing to play with you, if you consent.”

It sounded too good to be true to Barricade. 

Ligier removed his hand from Barricade’s mouth. 

“Can you untie me?” Barricade pushed his boundaries. 

“Let’s start with your arms first,” Ligier said, not ready to trust Barricade completely. He stepped around the table and unbound Barricade’s left arm, then his right, both the wrist and upper arm straps.

Barricade tested his range of movement while Ligier stayed carefully out of reach. Barricade then ran his hand across the chest band still firmly holding him down. It was smooth, without buckle or seam. It must attach somewhere underneath him, he realized, somewhere he couldn’t reach. 

Ligier was unafraid that Barricade was going to get himself loose. He picked up the container of medical polish and a fresh buffing cloth and moved between Barricade’s legs. 

Barricade was suddenly, intensely, interested by whatever Ligier was going to do. 

Ligier moved the blanket out of the way and started massaging the medication into Barricade’s pelvic plating. As his hands passed over Barricade’s interface plating, Ligier could feel a slight uptick of charge beneath his hands. 

Barricade gripped the edges of the table, trying to move into Ligier’s massage, but was unable to due to the straps still holding his lower body down. He could do nothing to stop what the mech was doing, and his helplessness fed into his simmering arousal. 

Ligier looked up at Barricade and gave the bound mech a wicked smile. His fingers worked their magic across Barricade’s thighs and knees as well, teasing lines of sensation upwards, drawing up towards Barricade’s interface equipment. 

Barricade was unaware when he started pleading to Ligier for more. 

The noblemech smirked. His toy begged so prettily. 

The teasing built his charge higher and higher until Barricade couldn’t keep his panels shut anymore. They opened with a snick, releasing his rampant spike and revealing his moist valve. 

The moment Barricade’s panels snapped open however, Ligier immediately pulled away from the other mech. 

“No, no, no, no!” Barricade wailed, trapped on a plateau of pleasure with no stimulation to set him free. “Please!” he begged, “Please! I need...” Barricade couldn’t move, he couldn’t writhe, he could only grip the edges of the table harder and toss his head back and forth in his aroused distress.

He never noticed Ligier moving until the other mech crawled on top of the table and sat on top of him with a knee on either side of his chest. Barricade’s hands went to Ligier’s interface paneling, stroking hungrily, trying to convince Ligier to open.

Ligier shushed Barricade as his hands gently caught Barricade’s and held them down on Ligier’s thighs, away from his interface panel. 

“What do you need?” Ligier demanded, looking down into Barricade’s eyes. 

Barricade was caught, speared by Ligier’s gaze and compelled by Ligier’s command. “I need you. Your spike, your valve, something,” the increasingly desperate mech wailed. 

Ligier held one hand over Barricade’s mouth, and Barricade didn’t dare to speak, or even to move. 

Barricade noticed that Ligier’s attention had shifted to somewhere over his head, where he knew the door to the room was. 

“That’s real sweet, but if you want what’s mine, you’ll have to convince me,” said a voice from behind Barricade. 

Barricade froze. He couldn’t see the new mech, but he could see the effect their entrance had on Ligier. 

Ligier sat up straight, hands moving back to rest on his thighs, and his gaze lowered to a point on the table next to Barricade’s head. His sudden submissive attitude disoriented Barricade.

The new mech stalked around the table silently and Barricade craned his neck to get a look. The mech was a short, nondescript black and white racer with a blue visor. 

The mech smirked at Barricade’s confusion. “Introduce me,” he commanded Ligier, walking a full circle around the two mechs on the table, taking in every angle of the delicious tableau.

Ligier bobbed his head in an abbreviated bow. “This is Autobot Special Operations Commander Jazz.” He snuck a significant glance at Barricade.

Barricade froze. Jazz’s name was a legend among the Decepticons, as were his deeds. It was said that he haunted even the darkest depths of Darkmount, preying on lost Decepticons. 

“I see you’ve heard of me,” Jazz remarked, seeing Barricade’s reaction and recognizing it for what it was. 

Barricade felt pinned under the other mech's calculating gaze. All he could do was nod dumbly.

Jazz gave Barricade a thin smile, then looked at Ligier. “Present,” he ordered the noble.

Barricade had a very close up view as Ligier’s interface paneling elegantly folded out of view. He hungrily stared, anticipation capturing his attention. What he saw, on the other hand, shocked him.

“What?” Barricade said dumbly. Instead of biolights and soft folds, Ligier’s valve was capped by a featureless silver oval. Similarly, where his spike should be was a featureless silver circle. Barricade had never seen anything like it. A sudden thought had him paralyzed in horror. Had Jazz completely removed Ligier’s interface hardware? 

Barricade was unaware that he was whimpering in fear and trying to squirm away. He was terrified they were going to do that to him.

Barricade wasn’t aware that Ligier had been calling his name until the other mech took a hold of his chin and tilted his head up to meet Ligier’s eyes. “Look at me,” the noblemech commanded sternly. 

Barricade nodded, his vocalizer paralyzed in fear. 

“Do you know what these are?” Ligier asked. 

Barricade shook his head. 

“These are chastity seals. They seal away my spike and valve, preventing them from being used, as well as preventing any overloads, until my master sees fit to remove them,” Ligier explained patiently. 

“Remove...” Barricade whispered. Ligier leaned forward so he could hear better. “You still have...”

“Yes,” Ligier said, releasing Barricade’s chin so he could cup Barricade’s cheek instead. “My equipment is still there. Underneath.”

“Are you going to do that to me?” Barricade asked in a small voice. While the fear in his field had gone down, he was still apprehensive. He did not like the idea of chastity seals. 

Ligier lightly stroked the side of Barricade’s face. “Not unless you want me to.” He could feel the tension slowly leaving Barricade. 

“Your master...?” Barricade started to ask, but paused, letting his eyes slip sideways to look at Jazz. 

“Yours too, if you like,” Ligier murmured to Barricade enigmatically. 

“Yep,” Jazz said, sauntering closer. “My submissive has been very good and he deserves a reward,” he said, caressing Ligier’s back. 

Ligier arched into his master’s touch. 

“Don’t you agree?” Jazz asked, turning his head to look at Barricade. 

As Jazz spoke Barricade could feel Ligier’s faint shiver against his torso. The noble’s field was calm, however. Barricade could tell that Ligier wasn’t afraid of the other mech. “Yes,” Barricade agreed, looking back up into Ligier’s eyes. 

Jazz moved to stand next to the table the two mechs were displayed on, as if they were giving a show for his enjoyment, which they were. Jazz smirked. Two pretty mechs, one in physical bondage and the other in mental bondage. All for him. He ran his hand down Mirage’s back again, this time firmly groping the blue and white mech’s finely-formed aft. 

Ligier preened under his master’s attention. 

Jazz’s other hand trailed down Ligier’s front. 

Barricade’s eyes followed, curious about what was going to happen. 

Jazz’s hand stopped at Ligier’s spike seal, giving it a few light strokes in anticipation, before harshly grinding the heel of his hand into the seal. Despite the seal’s dampening, it was still the most stimulation Ligier’s spike had received in a week.

Ligier threw his head back with a choked cry as the flash of charge generated by the stimulation was quickly dissipated by the seal.

“Gently,” Jazz chided his submissive lightly, “we’re not there yet.” His hand moved back, away from Ligier’s spike seal and towards Ligier’s valve seal. 

Ligier tensed up as Jazz stroked it lightly, teasing his submissive. Ligier couldn’t feel Jazz’s light strokes through the dampening of the seal, but he still shifted his hips restlessly, wanting more, but not able to ask for it. 

Jazz clicked his tongue at Ligier and removed his hand from Ligier’s aft. “Do you want to give Barricade here a show?” he asked his submissive, his hand still on Ligier’s valve seal. 

Ligier nodded helplessly. 

Barricade’s arousal was reignited by the sensual tease the two other mechs were performing on top of him. Somehow, obediently, Barricade had kept his hands on Ligier’s thighs instead of grabbing at the other mech’s interface hardware. 

“Bend back, then,” Jazz coaxed, “and give Barricade a good look as I remove your seal.” 

Ligier was trembling, but still managed to gracefully bow over backwards, his shoulders resting on Barricade’s thighs, and his back in an elegant arch. 

Barricade could see everything between Ligier’s thighs clearly. The valve seal was facing him. Jazz’s fingers teased around the edge of the seal, loosening it slowly while Ligier shook; whether from anticipation or from the difficulty of the pose, Barricade could not tell. Slowly, ever so slowly, Jazz peeled away the seal, giving Barricade a close look underneath. 

A spiral of elegant white biolights accented the outer lips of the valve and the exterior node. The opening itself looked small, as if the noble had been sealed away at the point when his valve mechanisms were at their smallest aperture.

Jazz stored the seal in his subspace for later. 

Ligier laid there, shuddering, long hidden sensors suddenly exposed and hypersensitive. Charge, long dampened by the seal, started building slowly in anticipation of his master’s touch. But none came. 

“He’s very sensitive like this,” Jazz murmured to Barricade, his head down close to the other mech’s. “He can feel every breeze, even the slightest touch, with as much force as if it was a spike.” 

Barricade saw Jazz’s hand enter his field of vision again. This time the mech held a turbohawk feather delicately. “Just... like... this...” Jazz ran the feather down Ligier’s valve lightly, from the nub at the top to the bottom of the folds. 

Ligier keened and spread his thighs wider, giving his master more room to play as he wished. He could not see Jazz’s hand at his angle. He could not see when the stimulation would come, or even if the stimulation would come. He did not know. Would he be left free, or would the next thing he felt be his seal being reapplied? Ligier served, as always, at his master’s pleasure. 

“Do you want to give him pleasure?” Jazz asked Barricade, voice dark with uncounted temptations.

Barricade dared to turn his head and look at Jazz. The feared SpecOps commander looked at him enigmatically from behind his Autobot-blue visor. 

“Here, you try it,” Jazz said, holding out the feather. 

Barricade took the feather and twirled it between his fingers. It was light and flexible. He could barely feel it against his own plating, but the effect it had on Ligier was clearly powerful. 

Barricade steadied his hand against Ligier’s thigh and gently touched the other mech’s valve lips. The sensation caused the noblemech to shudder again, which shook Barricade’s hand and caused the feather to twitch and dance across Ligier’s valve in a feedback loop of pleasure that Barricade watched in fascinated amusement. 

After several minutes of teasing Ligier’s valve, however, Barricade was beginning to feel impatient. He could see beads of lubrication starting to form on Ligier’s valve lips, and Barricade wanted to touch. He passed the feather back to Jazz, who was watching the show with amused arousal. Then, Barricade gently touched Ligier’s external node, causing the other mech to buck and scream. Barricade kept his finger on Ligier’s node as the other mech writhed. Slowly, relentlessly he increased the pressure even as Ligier’s bucking threatened to make his grip slip. Electrical discharge started to snap across Ligier’s valve and lower plating, tingling across Barricade’s fingers, until, with a scream, Ligier overloaded. 

Ligier collapsed on top of Barricade as he removed his finger. 

“Well done,” Jazz said, praising both mechs for the show. And what a show it had been. Jazz’s charge, fucked out of him by Ratchet, was rising again. Then again, his submissive always had that effect on him.

Ligier broke. “Please,” Ligier moaned softly, getting both Jazz and Barricade’s attention.

“What was that?” Jazz asked, feigning detachment. 

“Please. Not enough. Need... inside...” Ligier said brokenly, head turned towards his master.

“You need somebody to fuck the charge out of you?” Jazz asked kindly, as if inquiring after a friend’s health. 

Ligier groaned, and nodded. Even in his desperation, his hands stayed firmly away from his own equipment.

“What do you say Barricade?” Jazz said, drawing Barricade’s attention from the desperate mech’s winking valve. “Can I trust you to take care of Ligier if I release you?” 

Barricade’s head whipped around towards Jazz so quickly that Barricade could hear the warning snap of protesting components in his neck. His spike, still exposed from when Ligier had teased his cover into opening,, was suddenly, once again, steel hard. “Yes, yes, yes, yes...” he chanted eagerly until Jazz, laughing, took a page from Ligier’s book and covered Barricade’s mouth with one hand. 

“You need to prepare him, then. Need to make sure he’s lubricated and ready to be stretched by your spike.”

Barricade nodded, frantically. He tried to reach for Ligier’s valve, but his hands were gently slapped away by Jazz.

Instead, Jazz helped Ligier up into a kneeling position over Barricade, then helped him shuffle forward on his knees until Ligier’s valve was above Barricade’s mouth. 

At that moment, Barricade understood what he had to do. 

Jazz slowly lowered Ligier onto Barricade’s face, checking to make sure the bound mech wasn’t being crushed. 

Barricade’s oral skills made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in skill as he licked and sucked whatever came in range of his lips and tongue. Before long, Ligier’s lubricants had soaked his face and were running down his neck cables as the mech writhed above him. 

Gone was the masterful interrogator who had commanded Barricade to a painfully ecstatic overload. Now the noblemech was submissive sensuality incarnate.

“You’re doing a very good job,” Jazz murmured to Barricade, evaluating Barricade’s reactions to his words. “Enthusiastic.”

Barricade tried to turn his head to look at Jazz, but Ligier’s thighs stopped him. All he could look at was Ligiers valve, the soft delicate whirls of white biolights, and the hidden glow of a blue biolight hidden deep within. Barricade hungered, even as he served Ligier. 

Jazz chuckled darkly. “That’s enough now,” he said to Barricade, then gave Ligier’s spike seal a slap. “Kneel up,” he ordered his submissive. 

Ligier rose, lifting his valve out of Barricade’s reach. The prone mech gave a soft cry of protest and tried to follow, however the chest band held him down out of reach. 

Ligier smiled down at Barricade, reaching down to trace his lips softly with one finger, gathering up a few drops of his own lubricant and bringing the finger to his lips to lick it off, keeping eye contact with Barricade the entire time. 

Barricade was surprised when he heard a growl. He looked over to see Jazz staring hungrily at Ligier, lust thick in his field. 

Ligier grinned and gave Barricade a saucy wink just before one of Jazz’s hands landed hard on Ligier’s aft with a loud smack. 

“Down with you,” his master ordered Ligier. “My turn.” 

Jazz helped Ligier off of Barricade’s chest and down off of the table. However, Jazz didn’t even let his submissive get his feet underneath himself before Ligier was abruptly spun around and shoved down. Ligier ended up sprawled half on the table, with his head resting on Barricade’s chest, and his legs hanging over the edge. 

Jazz leaned over the rear of his submissive, blanketing the other mech as the table lowered until Ligier’s valve was held at the optimum height for Jazz’s use. 

Jazz slipped a hand between Ligier’s thighs, unceremoniously plunging two fingers into Ligier’s valve. He sissored his fingers, testing his submissive’s warm, willing, and very well-lubricated valve. Without further delay, Jazz removed his fingers, and plunged his spike into his submissive, leaving Ligier with no other option but to accept his forceful entrance. 

Ligier’s face was turned towards Barricade’s, so the other mech could see the look of sheer pained ecstasy that came over Ligier’s face. The sound the mech made as he was penetrated were indescribable. Ligier’s hands scrambled to hold onto something, clawing at Barricade and the table indiscriminately. The look in his eyes was distant, his focus entirely on his master’s possession of his valve, of his body. 

Ligier bowed his head, burying his face in Barricade’s chest. 

Jazz pulled back and thrust into him harshly, rocking Ligier’s body against the table, and against Barricade. 

Barricade’s own lust fed off of the passion-filled fields of the two mechs entwined nearly on top of him as they moved in a primal mating dance. Barricade’s spike, still erect and aching with arousal, lay ignored. 

Ligier cried out in his second overload and threw his head back as he bucked erratically.

Jazz held Ligier’s hips tightly, pounding into him mercilessly as he chased his own overload, unheeding of the mech underneath him. 

Liger’s valve, still highly sensitive after his overload, started to build charge again. It was so sensitive that the sensation of his master’s spike rippling across his interior nodes felt closer to pain than to pleasure. Ligier craved more of his master’s touch. Ligier obediently bowed underneath his master’s relentless pounding, rocking back into Jazz’s thrusts. 

Barricade watched Liger’s face as it contorted, his teeth gritted in something like pain, but clearly not. He reached out, cupping Ligier’s cheek in his hand. Ligier looked up at Barricade, but Barricade could tell that Ligier wasn’t actually looking at him. Ligier’s field was heavy with pained arousal, which lit a fire deep within Barricade. It was a craving that he could not satisfy himself, bound as he was at the mercy of the two mechs fucking on top of him. All he could do was accept what he was given, and hope that it would be enough for them to show mercy on him. 

Jazz grunted with his own overload, holding Ligier close as he filled his submissive. He laid on Ligier’s back for several long moments, giving Ligier a hearty slap when the other mech tried to start moving again. 

Ligier groaned as Jazz pulled off, clearly done. “Please, please, please...” he begged until the words ran incoherently from his lips, bucking backwards as the incomplete build up of charge taunted him with the potential of a second overload. 

“Quiet!” Jazz ordered. 

With a last full-body shudder, Ligier stilled. 

“Present!” Jazz ordered, stepping back from Ligier. 

The noblemech dropped off the side of the table and to his knees, on the floor. All sign of Ligier’s previous grace was erased by the pure need running through his body and his field. He parted his legs, his master’s lubricant dripping slowly from his valve, and resolutely laid his hands on his thighs, despite the temptation to finger his valve for some relief. He was posed on the edge of yet another overload, kept on a knife’s edge of sensation as the charge crackled though his systems, even as his spike lay dormant behind its seal. 

Jazz withdrew a collar from his subspace and held it in front of Ligier. It took the sex-addled submissive a long moment to realize what his master held and to lower his head in submission so his master could place it around his neck. Jazz clipped a leash to a ring on the front of the collar and used it to pull his submissive to his feet. 

Liger stood, passively allowing Jazz to move him around, even as his fans worked overtime trying to cool down taxed, overcharged systems. 

Jazz lead his submissive over to the wall and looped the leash through a ring on the wall. The leash would not hold if Ligier decided to try to fight it. The leash was not what held Ligier, but his master’s will. Jazz gave Liger a few broad strokes down the other mech’s back. It was a tease to a mech that was close to the breaking point. 

Jazz left Ligier obediently standing and facing the wall and turned back to Barricade. Barricade stared the other mech with large eyes as Jazz walked over to stand next to him. Jazz leaned over Barricade’s face so that the bound mech was forced to look at him and only him. He filled Barricade’s vision. 

Unfulfilled craving twisted at Barricade’s circuits. His interface hardware was still primed, however his hands, while free, lay submissively next to his body instead of reaching up for the mech above him. 

Jazz smiled. “I like yah,” he admitted to the mech pinned beneath him. “You submit so beautifully,” Jazz slowly and gently brought up one hand and lightly skimmed it across Barricade’s forehead, to his cheek, to his neck, where it laid against his collar armor. “You like him?” Jazz asked, patiently waiting for Barricade’s reply.

Barricade quickly glanced towards Ligier, but didn’t dare to take his eyes away from Jazz for long. When Barricade finally realized that Jazz was waiting for a reply, all he could do was nod. Jazz’s hand was warm against his collar armor. It’s presence held him in place as surely as the strap across his chest. 

“You want him,” Jazz said, his low voice teasing Barricade. “You want him pinned beneath you, screaming, writhing as you plunge into him again and again and again until you have both come so many times you fall offline from pleasure.” Jazz’s voice caressed each syllable, packaging it up with a layer of debauchery that made Barricade’s circuits burn with pleasure. 

Barricade nodded harder. 

Across the room, Ligier shuddered as he heard what Jazz had planned for him. He remained facing the wall where he had been tied, resisting the urge to look around. 

“I’ll let you,” Jazz said, softly, temptingly. “I’ll let you fuck him and stuff his valve full until you fall unconscious with your spike still hilted in his valve.” 

Barricade licked his lips and tasted Ligier’s lubricant that was still smeared across his face and neck. He wanted. He craved. 

He nodded.

“There are conditions,” Jazz’s tone was pure evil temptation. He reached into his subspace and pulled out another collar. Where Ligier’s collar had been sturdy, but decorative, this collar was completely functional. The shock collar would be enough to stop Barricade where he stood if Jazz needed to. 

“I see you recognize this little toy,” Jazz purred, a sharp edge underlying his silky voice. “Then you know what it can do. Follow my orders, and you will experience the pleasure of that submissive little valve wrapped around your spike. Disobey me, and I’ll seal away your equipment myself and you will never overload.”

Barricade was nodding vigorously. The danger, perversely, only made him harder.

“Use your words,” Jazz chided, darkly. “Or didn’t you learn anything from Ligier’s training?”

Barricade stilled. “Yes...” he stuttered, clearing his vocalizer. “Yes sir. I understand,” he said, cowed. 

Jazz looked him hard in the eyes for a long moment, then sat up straight. “Lean forward,” he ordered Barricade. While Barricade leaned forward as far as his bondage let him, Jazz slipped the shock collar around Barricade’s neck. 

Barricade trembled as the lock closed with a snick. 

Jazz considered Barricade’s face for a long moment, before he jumped up to sit on the table and pulled a soft rag out of his subspace. He used it to wipe down Barricade’s face, lips, and as much of his neck as Jazz could reach around the shock collar, cleaning up most of Ligier’s lubricant.

Barricade laid still, watching Jazz’s intent face curiously as the dominant mech took care of him. 

Jazz returned the used rag to his subspace, and hopped off the table. “Hold still,” he ordered Barricade. Jazz grinned to himself when he noticed that Barricade was following his directions studiously, Barricade didn’t even allow his gaze to follow Jazz as he unlatched and retracted the straps that had been holding Barricade down. Barricade didn’t even stretch after the last strap came off. 

Jazz was impressed by his self-control. 

He clipped a leash onto Barricade’s collar and gave it a gentle tug to see what Barricade had learned from Ligier’s earlier example. 

Barricade yielded to the gentle guidance of the leash, sitting up and sliding off of the table under its encouragement. At least, until a cable in one of his legs, kinked by too long left in an awkward position, spasmed under Barricade’s weight, collapsing and bringing the mech crashing to the floor. Barricade made a distressed sound and clumsily tried to stand, but Jazz’s hand on his shoulder stopped him. 

Kneeling, Jazz felt his way down Barricade’s leg, touching more of it than was strictly necessary to diagnose or treat the issue. He needed to get Barricade used to his touch, and he’d take the opportunities given him. Little did Barricade know, but his training had already started.

Barricade winced, then grunted as Jazz found the offending cable and massaged it back into place. Testing the leg again, Barricade gingerly stood up. This time he was able to follow Jazz’s tug on the leash until he was facing the same wall Ligier was. Both mechs were just over an arm’s length away, far enough apart that they couldn’t touch the other on their own, but could if they both decided to disobey. 

Unlike Ligier, Jazz kept Barricade on a much shorter leash. He tied Barricade’s leash to a ring firmly, then raised the ring along a vertical track until it was above Barricade’s reach, pulling the slack tight. The lack of slack did not allow Barricade to move from his spot next to the wall. Unknown to Barricade, the leash would not hold up to a determined effort to free himself. The leash was a test of Barricade’s ability to follow orders, not an enforcement tool. 

“Stay here,” Jazz ordered. “Face the wall, and don’t say anything.”

Barricade obediently waited, arousal at a steady simmer. Ligier’s aroused field barely brushed against his own aroused field, and the spiky static of Ligier’s potential overload left Barricade’s systems running on high. He shifted restlessly. Jazz hadn’t told him that he couldn’t move, he just wasn’t allowed to move away from where he was, he reasoned. 

Jazz kept an eye on Barricade as he rearranged the table, so he noticed when the mech started absently touching and stroking the wall. It was not an unexpected reaction for somebody in Barricade’s position. Standing next to him, Liger was practically plastered to the wall, both in an effort to cool down, and to try to disperse some of the charge racing beneath his armor. It would be ultimately futile, but it always aroused Jazz to watch his submissives’ helpless writhing. 

The interrogation table was much more versatile than most outside of SpecOps ever realized. Its simplest and most commonly used form was that of a slab that could be raised, lowered, and inclined at will. Few also knew that it could also be transformed into one of several different customized options. Jazz programmed in the setting he wanted, and waited while it pivoted upright and transformed. 

Barricade heard noises, but didn’t dare to look. 

Eventually Jazz finished whatever he was working on, walked over to Ligier, and, after untying his leash from the ring, lead the other mech away. 

Now Barricade didn’t even have the steadying comfort of Ligier’s field next to him. All he could look at was the wall, and all he could hear was Jazz’s soft voice as he urged Ligier into position, whatever that was. 

Barricade stared at the wall in a fog, until he suddenly realized that Jazz was standing next to him. He shied sideways, only stopped by the tug of the leash as a reminder. 

Jazz didn’t say anything about Barricade’s close brush with disobeying his orders. Instead, he placed his hands firmly on Barricade’s shoulder. Barricade was confused as Jazz confidently ran his hands down Barricade’s upper arm and over his elbow joint, but remained still as the mech continued down his forearm to his wrist. Holding Barricade’s wrist securely, Jazz took a sturdy cuff out of his subspace and wrapped it around Barricade’s wrist, checking carefully to make sure that it didn’t crimp any critical lines. He then gave Barricade’s other arm the same treatment, followed by both of his legs, ignoring how the lust in Barricade’s field peaked as he brought his hands close to Barricade’s exposed interface hardware. Once he was done, Jazz lowered the ring so he could untie Barricade from the wall. 

With a gentle tug of the leash, Jazz urged Barricade to turn around. 

Barricade stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scene that Jazz had constructed. 

The table was now a solid metal X standing upright in the middle of the room. Bound by his wrists and ankles to the arms of the X was Ligier. It was only when Barricade realized that he could see the glow of the biolights around Ligier’s valve that he realized that the X was at a slight angle, tipping Ligier forward so his head hug between the two upright portions. As Barricade watched, Ligier squirmed, but the bound mech had very little slack to move. 

As he walked forward, Barricade felt like he was floating in a haze of arousal. Jazz urged him forward until he stood directly behind Ligier. Barricade startled as he felt the tip of his spike brush the warm paneling of Ligier’s aft. 

“Steady,” Jazz said soothingly, as if Barricade was a high-strung mechanimal ready to take flight. “Steady now. Hold still,” he warned. 

Barricade humped up against Liger, blindly seeking the other mech’s warm valve with his spike. 

“Still!” Jazz said harshly, and slapped Barricade’s leg with a crop that Barricade hadn’t noticed he was carrying. 

Barricade froze. His system lit with confusing signals. He was so revved up, the slap didn’t hurt, but Jazz’s harsh reminder cut through the fog of excitement that sudden proximity to Ligier’s hungry field had stirred up in him.

Jazz took Barricade’s leash and threaded it through a ring at the back of Liger’s collar. Barricade was left with a few inches of slack, but no further. When he tried to pull back, Barricade discovered that Liger’s leash was attached to the cross. Neither of them were allowed to raise their heads from their bowed positions. 

Jazz used the crop on the inside of Barricade’s thighs to urge him to widen his stance until his feet were just inside Ligier’s. Jazz then leaned down and attached a strap between Liger’s cuffed ankle and Barricade’s cuffed ankle, tying the two mechs together. He did the same for each limb until Barricade was firmly tied down, draped over Ligier’s back with his spike rubbing up against his aft. 

Jazz stepped back to watch both mechs in satisfaction. 

Ligier writhed in his bondage as much as he was able, hungry for a spike, anything, to fill his long-denied valve. 

Barricade, aroused by Ligier and Jazz’s earlier display, was confused. He tried to look at Jazz for guidance, but his leash prevented him from raising his head. 

The fact that Barricade sought guidance from his dominant when he was unsure was a good sign as far as Jazz was concerned. It boded well for his eventual integration with the rest of Jazz’s unconventional group. 

Jazz gave his still-released spike a few leisurely strokes. Driven by the sight and co-mingled fields of the submissives in front of him, it didn’t need much encouragement before it became fully erect. 

Barricade felt an unexpected touch on the center of his back, and tried to shy away from it, but he couldn’t move away from Jazz’s wandering touch, or from his intensely passionate field. It blanketed Barricade from behind, surrounding him with Jazz and Ligier’s rampant passion. With a shudder, Barricade surrendered to the inevitable and relaxed. 

“Good, good,” Jazz praised Barricade as he felt Barricade’s surrender. 

Barricade rested his forehead against the back of Ligier’s head, drawing strength from the other mech. There was not a hint of worry or discomfort in Ligier’s field, aside from the overwhelming hunger of an overstimulated valve. Barricade jumped when Jazz’s hand wandered even lower, and lightly stroked the lips of Barricade’s valve. 

“Such a good mech,” Jazz purred as Barricade settled, and more importantly, didn’t close his panels at Jazz’s touch. “Let me in,” he coaxed Barricade. 

Confusion threaded through Barricade’s field. “You are,” he said, plaintively. 

“Ask for it,” Jazz commanded, pinching at Barricade’s nub lightly, causing the mech to shudder, before stroking his valve lips again. Barricade was lubricated well enough that Jazz could slip his fingers in easily if he tried. Jazz wondered if he’d be able to fit his fist in there, and tabled the idea for another time. As it was, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were drips of lubricant down the bound mech’s thigh armor. 

“Ask me to fuck you,” Jazz whispered temptingly, plastering his body to Barricade’s back and cupping Barricade’s valve in his hand, “and once I’m done, you’ll get to fuck Ligier.” 

Underneath Barricade, Ligier shuddered at Jazz’s dark promise. Ligier could also feel Barricade’s hesitation. Ligier needed to be fucked, he burned for it, and his master had declared the only way he was going to get fucked was if Barricade did it. “Please...” Ligier dared to plead, trying to rub himself against Barricade and against Barricade’s raging spike. “Please. Barricade. Please. Fuck me please. Please. Please. Please!” 

Jazz didn’t order his submissive to be quiet because he could see Ligier’s words eroding Barricade’s reluctance. “I’ll only fuck you if you ask for it,” Jazz promised, seductively. It was completely and utterly true. None of Jazz’s submissives were ever forced to fuck (unless that’s what they wanted). However, Barricade still needed training before he could join their ranks.

Barricade could feel Jazz’s spike grind against his aft. The taunt, combined with Barricade’s ongoing buzz of interrupted pleasure, caused Barricade to grind forward into Ligier’s aft. Barricade could feel the smirk in Jazz’s voice as Barricade’s movement also ground Barricade’s valve against Jazz’s fingers, causing Barricade to whimper slightly. He wanted. Oh, how he wanted.

“Ask me,” Jazz coaxed the reluctant mech. 

“Please,” Barricade asked softly, his voice hidden in Ligier’s neck. 

“What did you say?” Jazz asked, removing his hand from Barricate’s valve and trailing it down Barricade’s side to caress his hip, leaving a smear of lubricant. 

“Please!” Barricade repeated louder, a heady mix of apprehension and anticipation in his field. 

“That’s a good mech,” Jazz purred, and kneeled behind Barricade. 

Barricade tried to turn his head, confused, before he suddenly felt a tongue lap at his valve lips. 

Jazz was licking him!

Barricade squirmed, but he couldn’t move far. His legs were spread wide, leaving Jazz plenty of room between Barricade’s thighs as he licked daintily, teasingly at Barricade’s valve lips. 

Barricade groaned and tried to push down as much as he could on Jazz’s clever tongue, wanting more of the heady sensation. 

Ligier, trapped underneath Barricade as Jazz worshipped his fellow captive’s valve, was left to enjoy the ever-building passion in Barricade’s field as the other mech slowly climbed his way towards the overload that was denied to Ligier. 

Before too long, though, Jazz pulled back, causing Barricade to start begging as Jazz stood up and wiped his face off. 

“Please! Please. Please. Please. Please.” was all the distraught mech could say, the bright edge of his oncoming overload slowly fading.

Jazz smirked and tapped Barricade’s leg with the crop he was still holding, using his other hand to position his spike at the rim of Barricade’s valve. 

Barricade quieted as he felt the head of Jazz’s spike rub lightly against his valve lips. He stilled in anticipation, his valve hungry. 

“Ready,” Jazz warned the submissive mech, before, in one, smooth thrust he breached Barricade’s valve and forced himself in to the hilt. 

Barricade screamed in primal satisfaction at the sudden explosion of sensation across his untouched internal nodes. He writhed as much as he was able to, trying to fuck himself back on Jazz’s spike and get more — more sensation, more movement. But Jazz held him tightly with one arm across his lower stomach, motionless. 

“Pay attention,” Jazz said, but Barricade was too lust-crazed to listen. Jazz slapped him harshly on the lower leg with the crop. “Attention!” he snapped out sharply.

The sting of the crop and the bark of the command got Barricade’s attention finally. His hips slowly settled to a stop.

“Focus,” Jazz ordered Barricade after the mech finally stilled.

Jazz smacked Barricade with the crop forcefully, followed shortly by a firm thrust of his spike. As Jazz pulled back, he removed the crop from Barricade’s plating and readied for the next blow. 

Slowly and methodically Jazz fucked Barricade in a steady drumbeat. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

Jazz ignored Barricade’s pleas and attempts to get him to move faster, instead he kept moving at the same... steady... rhythm. 

Barricade was going insane. The pace kept him on a pleasurable plateau. It wasn’t enough to tip him over the edge into overload. He was frustrated, and very, very aroused. 

Ligier shuddered beneath Barricade as Jazz’s steady thrusts drove Barricade’s spike against his aft. He was completely helpless to his master’s will, and his master had a point to make to Barricade first. Ligier recognized this pattern. Jazz had used it several times with him, but without the whip, to teach him the rewards of patience. Ligier knew that Barricade was in for a very frustrating ride, but an overwhelming climax in the end. 

Ligier was forced to wait. Even after two overloads, Ligier’s valve was still ultra-sensitive from his chastity. His systems were so primed, his charge wouldn’t even dissipate naturally. It would just keep building until it was fucked out of him. It always took several overloads to do so. 

Ligier whimpered softly as his master continued to grind Barricade’s spike against Ligier’s aft. He hadn’t even had his spike seal removed yet. When the seals were on, they made waiting easier, and let him focus on his master’s pleasure. Being forced to wait while freshly unsealed left him highly-strung in anticipation. Waiting made his eventual overloads that much better, even if it felt like torture. The decision was not up to him, though. All Ligier could do was wait while his master broke in his newest submissive. 

Barricade hadn’t made the choice yet, but he would. 

Mirage had. 

Barricade had settled into the pattern Jazz beat into him. It had become routine, until suddenly he realized that the next blow of the crop didn’t come. Jazz’s next thrust didn’t come. Barricade froze, uncertain what to do. 

“Good,” Jazz praised, and Barricade realized that doing nothing, that waiting for his master, was the correct reaction. Jazz continued again at a slightly faster pace, then stopped again. Over several long minutes Jazz varied the pattern a few more times, each time praising Barricade when he stopped, obedient to Jazz’s directions. 

It took Barricade several minutes to notice that Jazz was slowly speeding up. The pleasure in his valve intertwined with the sting on his leg until both became inseparable to his senses. Barricade was engulfed in sharp-edged pleasure. More importantly, Barricade could feel his charge rising towards overload. 

However, Jazz stopped again, and this time he pulled his spike out of Barricade completely. 

As he had been trained, Barricade didn’t move. Gradually, as Jazz didn’t resume his fucking, Barricade’s head dropped down to rest against Ligier’s in defeat. He didn’t complain, and he didn’t move. He submitted to Jazz’s will, despite the fact that he had been teased up to the edge of overload multiple times and left unfulfilled.

It was an excellent result, and exactly what Jazz was looking for. With Mirage it had taken much longer to get to this point. Jazz believed that Mirage’s example had an unconscious impact on Barricade’s attitude. Barricade really would be sweet when tamed to hand. 

Barricade stirred slightly as he felt Jazz run one hand down his back. “Good,” Jazz crooned to the bound mech. “You’re being such a good mech for me.” 

Jazz reached into his subspace and pulled out a spike ring. “Now... easy does it,” he kept a steady hand on Barricade’s aft as his other hand reached between Barricade and Ligier. He did not want to warn Barricade what was going to happen.

“Steady now,” Jazz murmured as he deftly slipped the ring over Barricade’s spike. 

“Steady!” Jazz reminded Barricade as the surprised mech tried to shy away from whatever Jazz was doing to his spike. Jazz deftly controlled Barricade’s movement, however, pulling the ring down to the base of Barricade’s spike and magnetizing it in place. 

“There you go,” Jazz soothed Barricade as he pulled his hand away and the bound mech stilled again.

Barricade turned his head. “What?” he said, in a soft, shaky voice. 

Jazz continued to stroke Barricade soothingly, feeling the unreleased charge snapping across his palms as he drew his hands down Barricade’s back. “It’s a spike ring,” Jazz explained in a low, calm tone of voice. “It will prevent you from overloading.” 

Barricade shook at the news, even as Jazz continued to comfort him. His field was thick with desperation. “Please...” he pleaded weakly. 

Jazz shushed him. “Ligier needs you,” Jazz crooned, weaving words of temptation around Barricade once again. “Can’t you feel how much he wants you?” 

Barricade nodded. He was practically plastered to the other mech’s back. He could feel Ligier’s desperate field feeding off of his own desperation and reflecting it back in and endless loop of mindless lust. 

“I promised you his valve,” Jazz said. “Would you deny him his pleasure? After all he did for you?”

Barricade shook his head, overwhelmed. 

“Good mech,” Jazz praised Barricade. He was making all the correct decisions. “Satisfy Ligier and I’ll allow you your overload.” Jazz dangled the chance at completion in front of Barricade. 

“First, though, you must satisfy me.” Jazz wrapped one arm around Barricade’s lower torso, lining himself up against his warm, plush valve.

Barricade nodded eagerly, even though Jazz hadn’t asked him a question. He wanted that spike back in his hungry valve, filling him and driving him over the edge.

Without warning, Jazz gave Barricade a harsh, stinging slap of the crop, then plunged his spike forward, mercilessly spearing Barricade’s valve as he had before. 

Barricade’s head came up in pleasured surprise, the strap between his collar to Ligier’s jerking at Ligier’s neck, and a lustful groan came from his throat. 

Jazz smirked, and repeated the pattern. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

SLAP!

Stroke. 

Moving, faster, and faster, and faster... until, with a grunt, Jazz dropped the crop, grabbed Barricade’s hips in both hands, and held him close as Jazz overloaded. 

The wash of Jazz’s lubricant in the depth of Barricade’s valve lit off something primitive in Barricade’s cortex, slamming Barricade into a screaming overload, causing him to buck back against Jazz’s hips as much as his bondage would allow for, the spasming walls of his valve milking Jazz’s spike. 

Barricade forgot about the spike ring. 

As the overload rolled through his frame, however, it was muted and restricted to his valve only. The spike ring dispersed the excess charge away from Barricade’s spike before it could tip him over into a spike overload as well. Barricade roared in anguish as the pleasure from his massive overload dispersed, leaving his spike unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

Beneath the agitated mech, Ligier shuddered. He knew what was going to happen next, and he was looking forward to it. 

Jazz didn’t try to sooth the lust-maddened Barricade. He pulled off the bound mech, and his withdrawal caused Barricade to growl and thrash with frustrated displeasure. Reaching around Barricade Jazz took a firm grip of the other mech’s spike and fed it into Ligier’s willing, waiting valve. 

Barricade felt the tight, moist grip of another mech’s valve around his spike and plunged savagely into the valve before him. 

Ligier wailed as his third overload wracked his body. Barricade’s lust-addled field, combined with the sounds of Barricade’s orgasm, had driven Ligier close to the edge. The ruthless plunge of Barricade’s spike had been the key needed to throw Ligier over the edge, screaming. 

Ligier knew that he’d have no mercy from the other mech. Barricade could not come until the ring was removed from his spike, and Jazz wouldn’t remove the ring until Ligier was fucked out. 

Barricade growled as Ligier thrashed below him, and struck, biting down hard on the side of Ligier’s neck. 

The sudden pain speared through Ligier’s field and tripped an automatic alert as Ligier thrashed in pain. Ligier quickly followed the alert with an all clear signal, but Jazz moved faster.

“Barricade!” Jazz cursed as he grabbed Barricade’s collar and pulled back on the larger mech’s neck, the shock collar starting to spark. 

Grunting, Barricade released his grip on Ligier’s neck, only to have the bit gag shoved into his open mouth. Jazz quickly fastened the straps so Barricade couldn’t dislodge it. 

Mindlessly chewing on the bit, Barricade leaned his head against Ligier’s wounded shoulder, humping Liger’s valve as the other mech’s pain caused Ligier’s channel to clamp down on his spike.

Jazz put his arm around Barricade’s waist and pulled back to force Barricade’s spike to slip out of Ligier’s spasming valve.

Barricade grunted incoherently in protest, humping at Ligier’s aft, not coordinated enough to find his valve on his own.

Jazz crossed beneath Ligier and Barricade’s raised arms so that he could face both mechs. 

Barricade was pretty well out of it, staring into space and drooling around his bit, hips working mindlessly. 

Ligier looked up at his master and gave him a shaky smile. 

Jazz cupped Ligier’s face in his hands. :You doing okay?: he asked his submissive. 

:I should have expected that after the biting earlier,: Ligier replied self-deprecatingly.

Jazz frowned at Ligier. :I’m in charge here.: 

Ligier stretched and rolled his hips back against Barricade’s. The mech on top of him whimpered, and humped harder against Ligier’s aft. Ligier’s charge was beginning to rise again under the influence of the mindless lust of Barricade’s field. 

:Please master,: Ligier couldn’t prostrate himself, but he could use flattering words. :Grant your humble servants the pleasure of their bodies,: Ligier looked up coyly at Jazz.

Jazz conceded with a huff. :Very well.: He dropped his hands from Ligier’s face with a final caress. :We’ll continue as planned.: 

Ligier let his own passion and approval thread through his field so that Jazz could feel it. 

Jazz exchanged his crop for the electro whip that Barricade had enjoyed so much under Ligier’s hand earlier that day and resumed his place behind Barricade. 

Barricade was startled out of his carnal haze by a tap of Jazz’s whip. He tried to look over his shoulder at the other mech, but the strap on his collar prevented him. 

“Normally, I’d punish you for what you just did,” Jazz warned Barricade in a forbidding tone of voice. 

A tremor of fear brought further clarity as Barricade recalled the events of the last few minutes. 

“However, punishing you would serve no purpose because you don’t understand what you did wrong. That is not your fault, you haven’t been trained yet,” Jazz stroked the whip down Barricade’s back. “Ligier has also begged very prettily on your behalf.” 

Barricade nuzzled into Ligier’s neck, on the opposite side from where he had bitten, trying to show the other mech that he was contrite, and appreciated his forgiveness. 

“Therefore, we will resume.” 

Barricade trembled in eagerness. Not even fear could keep his surging lust caged for long. 

“However!” Jazz’s voice was like the crack of his whip. “You will remember what you have learned thus far. If you don’t, I’ll tie you back down to the table and take the spike ring off. You will be left alone for your charge to ever-so-slowly taper off until the memory of the overload that could be is ashes. Nod if you understand.”

Barricade shakily nodded.

Satisfied, Jazz lightly tapped Barricade with the whip.

After a few moments, Barricade noticed that the pattern Jazz’s whip was tapping. It was the same pattern that Jazz had used when he’d fucked Barricade. Barricade let his hips fall into sync with the taps, humping the air instead of Ligier’s valve. He realized that this was a test. Do well, and he’d be rewarded. 

Tap.

Stroke. 

Tap.

Stroke. 

Tap.

Stroke. 

After the mech had successfully followed the pattern for a minute straight, Jazz halted his whip, and Barricade obediently stopped. “Good mech,” Jazz praised Barricade. 

Jazz reached around Barricade and took a firm hold of his spike. Pushing lightly on Barricade’s lower back he maneuvered Barricade’s spike into Ligier’s aroused valve.

Barricade, his overload held prisoner and simmering beneath his plating waiting to be released, wanted to start thrusting immediately, but remembered Jazz’s warning. The mesh lips of Ligier’s valve caressed the head of his spike maddeningly as he stood there patiently. Finally...

CRACK!

Barricade slammed his hips into Ligier’s, bottoming his spike in Ligier’s valve without concern for the other mech’s pleasure. 

Ligier was so revved up that it didn’t take much to have him writhing on Barricade’s spike, climbing towards his fourth overload of the day. 

Still, Jazz kept the pattern slow. His whip deliberately covered Barricade’s shoulders, back, aft, thighs, and lower legs randomly.

CRACK!

Stroke.

CRACK!

Stroke. 

CRACK!

Stroke. 

Both Ligier and Barricade were at the mercy of the relentless dominant who controlled their bodies. It was Jazz who determined the pace of their pleasure, not them. 

Barricade gripped the straps that held him tied to Ligier, trying to get as much leverage as he could. He gritted his teeth around his gag and groaned as he heard Ligier’s helplessly aroused whimpering. 

Ligier recognized that he was not trapped between the cross and Barricade, but the cross and his master’s will. The charge in his valve was rising again, slowly, torturously. He was very sensitive, both from the seal being removed and from the overloads he had already endured. And endured was becoming the right word. With his spike still sealed, each overload was only a valve overload. While pleasurable, they left Ligier ultimately unsatisfied. A complete and total overload dangled just out of his reach. There was nothing he could do to earn himself the final overload, except to please his master. 

A particularly harsh blow caused Barricade to shift on his spread feet, which were already precariously balanced. The slip caused a sudden change in his angle of entry, hitting a new set of nodes in Ligier’s valve. Ligier cried out, and Barricade couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or in pain. 

The next strike didn’t come. Instead, Jazz’s hand came between them and gripped the back of Ligier’s head. Barricade held his position inside of Ligier as the mech’s valve spasmed around his spike. 

“What was that?” Jazz demanded. 

“Please,” Ligier said breathlessly. As if it was the bursting of a dam, the submissive mech broke, words tumbling from his lips. “Please, please, please. Master, please! Mercy!” 

Jazz leaned back, letting go of Ligier’s head. “Mercy?” he said with a rumbling intensity to his voice. Ligier shuddered. “There will be no mercy. I will have you fucked until you are limp and all the charge is wrung from your valve. Then, I might let Barricade stop.” 

Ligier keened in helpless, carnal anguish. His hips hitched back against Barricade’s spike, causing the other mech to close his eyes while he concentrated on not disobeying Jazz. Ligier writhed helplessly beneath Barricade as his fellow submissive attempted to use his body to hold Liger still. 

Jazz chuckled, watching his submissives writhe. They were so pretty together, and they were both his, even if Barricade didn’t understand it yet. 

“Barricade,” Jazz said over the sound of Ligier’s despair. 

Barricade nodded to show that he was listening, because he could not turn his head to look at Jazz. 

“I will give you permission to fuck Ligier as hard as you like, as long as you like.”

Ligier’s field exploded with a heady excitement that almost carried Barricade away. 

Jazz passed the end of the whip caressingly down Barricade’s back to make sure he kept Barricade’s attention. “However, the entire time you are fucking Ligier, I will be thrashing you with this whip.” 

Jazz’s proposition was a deal with the devil, and one that he knew Barricade would accept. The mech was a born masochist. Jazz had realized the truth of that when Barricade had come untouched just from some dirty talk and a skilled flogging. 

“The ring?” Barricade stuttered out. 

“After Ligier,” Jazz said. 

Between his weeping spike and Ligier’s moist valve, Barricade didn’t have much choice. He didn’t want to have a choice.

Barricade lowered his head submissively. “Please,” he said into the back of Ligier’s neck. 

“Good mech,” Jazz said with a smile as he adjusted his position. Barricade still hadn’t moved and Jazz was pleased by his obedience. 

With a sharp CRACK Jazz brought the whip down hard on Barricade’s back. 

Taken by surprise at the sudden move, Barricade yelped and surged forwards. He quickly realized the relative freedom he had been granted by Jazz, and started to fuck Ligier in earnest. 

The blows kept falling, leaving bright strips of pain that faded into a warm tingle that mixed pleasantly with the undispersed heat and charge held back by the spike ring. Barricade leaned forward to try to give himself slightly more leverage as he pounded away at Ligier’s valve. It was a fucking without finesse and without skill, just pure, brutal, furious passion. 

Ligier cried out at Barricade’s first thrust, then sobbed as the charge in his valve slowly grew. His sensitive valve felt raw and abused, but still the charge grew until he couldn’t take it anymore, and he wailed as he fell into another overload. 

Barricade gritted his teeth as he felt Ligier’s valve ripple as it shed additional lubricant to prevent lock up during overload. The pain in his back merged with the sensual pain of denied overload, but the ring on his spike did not allow his charge to rise. Barricade’s charge was held at a plateau. Once released from the spike’s hold, it wouldn’t take much to send Barricade into a screaming overload. At any moment he hoped to feel Jazz’s hand between them, loosening his spike ring.

Jazz enjoyed watching his submissives in the age-old carnal dance. Ligier was attractive, and the vain mech knew it. Caught up in uncontrollable passion and driven to carnal excesses, the elegant veneer was stripped away, however, showing the obedient wanton that hid behind polished plating. Barricade... Barricade had a rough charm that needed shaping, and Jazz was just the mech to do that. 

Ligier cried out again as he tipped over into yet another overload, his vision briefly blacking out. His valve was starting to feel numb, the back to back overloads not allowing the sensors any time to recover. He knew from experience that his next overload would likely be his last. An automatic alert pinged his master. 

Jazz redoubled his flogging of Barricade, urging the mech to go faster, harder than he was already. He used Barricade to drive Ligier relentlessly towards his last overload.

Barricade felt the ring suddenly click open and fall off his spike between one stroke and the next. He roared as all of his pent up charge suddenly raced through his systems, creating a self-sustaining feedback loop and throwing him immediately into an overload so powerful he dropped unconscious. 

As he came down after his last overload, Ligier was on the edge of unconsciousness. He was aware just enough to realize that Barricade had overloaded into unconsciousness before him. Ligier smiled angelically as he also released his hold on consciousness. 

Jazz watched as the bodies of his two unconscious submissives slumped, and coiled up the whip to put it away. He had some work to do. 

***

Barricade woke up slowly. He was wrapped in soft warming blankets and somebody was humming a song he didn’t recognize. Something smooth and sultry.

Sluggish systems slowly warmed up. The pattern that they warmed up in that told Barricade that he had fucked himself unconcious. It’s been a long time since the last time he had done that. 

As Barricade’s systems slowly came online, alerts started popping up on his HUD, but they weren’t urgent, so he ignored them. He cuddled closer to the mech next to him. 

... Barricade recognized that EM field now. “You fucking idiot, you let me think you were dead,” he said calmly. Fingers that had been tracing idle shapes on his arm stopped. 

Barricade opened his eyes and rolled over on top of ‘Ligier.’ “I said,” Barricade said, his tone lightly accusing, “that you let me think you were dead.” 

A brush of a second field washed over Barricade in stern warning, drawing his gaze away from the mech underneath him and to the mech in charge. There was a warning in Jazz’s eyes. 

Barricade huffed, rolled off of Ligier, and cuddled up against Jazz’s legs instead. Barricade settled his head down on Jazz’s lap. He smirked at the quickly hidden surprise in the other mech’s field. Jazz didn’t show any other sign of surprise though as he drew the blanket back over Barricade. 

Barricade wriggled under the blanket in languid, sore delight, and turned to face ‘Ligier.’ “What’s your name now, because ‘Ligier’ isn’t it,” he stated. 

‘Ligier’ raised one elegant eyebrow. “It isn’t?” 

“Not posh enough for you, asshole,” Barricade said amicably. He swore he felt Jazz stifle a laugh.

‘Ligier’ looked above Barricade at Jazz. After a moment he looked back down and replied, “Mirage. My name’s Mirage.” 

“Get over here, Mirage,” Barricade said, lifting the edge of his blanket. 

Mirage looked at Barricade like he was crazy, but quickly squirmed forward the few feet to bury himself in Barricade’s arms. 

Jazz threw another blanket over them. 

Barricade hummed in contentment as the warmth from the blankets helped soothe his overextended systems, and settled back down. 

Barricade didn't expect the treat that suddenly appeared in front of his face. He rolled slightly so that he could see Jazz’s face out of the corner of his vision. What he saw had him opening his mouth obediently and gently taking the treat from Jazz’s fingers with a small lick to the other mech’s finger tips. 

Mirage stirred in interest, and Jazz picked out another treat, holding it above Mirage’s mouth. Mirage obediently opened his mouth and let Jazz deposit the treat on his tongue. Mirage closed his eyes while he enjoyed the treat. 

“Mirage,” Jazz broke the comfortable silence that had fallen on the trio. 

Mirage looked up at Jazz. That was his master’s serious tone of voice. It warned Mirage that the other mech was treading the line between Jazz-the-master and Jazz-the-commander. 

“You planned this,” Jazz said sternly. 

It was a serious accusation, and Mirage was seasoned enough to recognize the shaky ground he was on. Mirage was still an Autobot, and needed to work in the best interests of the Autobots. If his loyalty was in doubt, it could be disastrous for him.

“No, not planned,” Mirage replied. “Hoped for, yes. I did nothing other than seize the opportunity when presented.” 

Barricade watched the byplay between the two mechs; the two Autobots. Before, he had been blind to faction symbols... now, they were all he could see. He couldn’t forget that he was at their mercy. 

“You knew he was like you.” Jazz was rapidly putting the pieces together. 

“Strongly suspected,” Mirage corrected. “When I saw him among the captives from the raid near Koan, I had to take the opportunity,” Mirage explained. 

Jazz slipped another treat to Barricade to keep him quiet and considered what Mirage had said. On one hand, Mirage had acted on his own initiative without getting prior clearance from his commander. On the other hand, that was exactly the initiative Jazz needed in one of his most skilled operatives.

Jazz shook his head. “What would Optimus say about this?” he mused out loud. 

Mirage smirked impudently up at his master. “He’d ask if I knew of anybody else.”

“That’s true,” Jazz conceded with gentle humor. He slipped another treat to Mirage, who accepted with a quick lick of Jazz’s fingers. 

“What about me?” Barricade asked in a small voice. 

Jazz looked down at the other mech in his lap. “What do you think will happen?” he asked the mech. 

Barricade looked away. “I can’t go back to the Decepticons,” Barricade mumbled into Mirage’s shoulder. He’d broken easily under questioning, and he’d given too much information to the enemy. Even if he hadn’t, though, he’d still be under suspicion when he arrived back in the Decepticon camp. Autobots didn’t let captives just walk away.

Barricade suddenly realized something. He looked up at Jazz. “You’re training me,” he stated, as if it was already a fact of his existence. 

“Yes,” Jazz said simply. He couldn’t explain to Barricade why. Not yet.

“You want me to become an Autobot,” Barricade stated. 

Jazz shook his head. “I want you to be mine. Autobots still allow dependents to stay neutral without joining up.” 

Barricade smiled sadly. “There are no neutrals in this war,” he said fatalistically. 

The Decepticons didn’t recognize neutrals as a group anymore. Autobots did. However, as war rolled across Cybertron, less territory remained unclaimed by either faction. Resources were also becoming increasingly scarce. Those who didn’t join a faction found themselves increasingly pressed to make a decision, or die, either of starvation or as collateral damage.

“I will train you. That is not negotiable,” Jazz said. “What happens to you afterward is up to you. You can remain mine, you can take another dominant as your master, you could probably even convince Optimus Prime into letting you go back to the Decepticons if you wanted to.” Prime would be sympathetic to Barricade’s situation, Jazz knew. 

Jazz could see that Barricade didn’t believe him. 

Mirage rolled over on top of Barricade. “Barricade,” he said, his lips resting just above Barricade’s. “Trust me. It’s worth it,” he said pleadingly. “Think about it. You won’t get this opportunity with the Decepticons. Who could you ever trust with this?” Mirage couldn’t get into the details as much as he wanted to. Barricade couldn’t hear them yet. It would only cause problems. But he still had to try. “Trust me,” he pleaded with his old friend.

Barricade touched foreheads with the other mech. “This is more pleasant than a POW camp,” he commented. His field was resigned. This far into the war, even the most well-run camp was one step up from a hell hole. There just weren’t that much supplies to go around.

“Mirage,” Jazz warned. “Hound will be here soon to take you to Ratchet.” 

“Barricade, trust me,” Mirage repeated. “Do what Jazz tells you to do, and I’ll see you when I can.”

There was a knock on the door. 

Barricade reached up before Mirage could stand. “Sorry,” he blurted out. 

Mirage turned back to him, clearly not understanding why Barricade was apologizing. 

Barricade touched Mirage’s wounded neck lightly. “Sorry,” he repeated. 

Mirage smiled. “It’s already forgiven,” he said, swooping forward and stealing a kiss from the surprised mech.

Barricade appreciated Mirage’s fine aft again as the slimmer mech extracted himself from the pile of mechs and blankets. The graceful white and blue mech kneeled over the lounging Jazz and kissed him. 

Jazz reached up to grab the noble’s head and deepened the kiss until even Barricade’s systems started feeling warm. 

Jazz pulled back, and placed a box in Mirage’s hands. “These are for Ratchet,” he ordered his submissive. It was the box of magnesium crunch treats that Ratcht had given Jazz earlier today. “You are not to open it.”

Mirage nodded his understanding. 

When Jazz finally released him, Mirage stood gracefully, if a bit unsteadily. He walked to the door with his panel unashamedly open, displaying his still-sealed spike and well-used valve leaking lubricant down his thighs. The door opened for him, allowing him to pass through before sealing shut behind him. 

Barricade was suddenly keenly aware that he was now locked in a room with Jazz, the nightmare of the Decepticon army... and his master? 

Barricade trembled slightly as he turned to face Jazz, and laid his head back down on the mech’s lap. 

Jazz didn’t say anything, only tugged the blanket back over Barricade and sat back, idly stroking Barricade’s head like he was a large lap pet.

“So...” Barricade started timidly, breaking the silence. “What happens now? Is this when the real interrogation happens? With the starving and the whipping and the branding...” Barricade shuddered. “I don’t know anything more than what I already told you... well, I might know other things, but I don’t think you’d be interested in what I know, I wasn’t very highly ranked or anything, just rumours—” 

Jazz cut off Barricade’s babbling with a strategically applied energon treat.

“Nothing like that,” Jazz said. “You only need to focus on doing what I tell you to.”

Barricade nodded hesitantly. 

Jazz looked at Barricade questioningly. 

“I... don’t know what you want me to be,” Barricade whispered. 

Jazz fed Barricade another treat. “I’ll teach you,” he reassured Barricade. 

They laid there for several more minutes while Barricade slowly relaxed and slipped into a light recharge. The events of the day were starting to hit him. He’d been in a battle, captured, interrogated, then fucked silly. The nap he’d had earlier wasn’t helping any more. 

Eventually, Barricade was roused by Jazz’s hand on his shoulder. 

“Time to go,” Jazz announced. “The floor isn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, and I need to clean you up before I show you your room.” 

Barricade groaned and buried his head in Jazz’s lap, to the other mech’s obvious amusement. 

“Barricade,” Jazz said in his ‘serious master’ voice. “Are you disobeying me already?” he ran a hand pointedly down one of the welts on Barricade’s back. 

Barricade gave a deep moan at the warm, sensual pain that bloomed up under Jazz’s touch. He shook his head, pushing himself to his knees. 

Jazz slid out from underneath Barricade and stood before helping the other mech stand. 

Barricade suddenly realized just how sore he really was as he swayed slightly before managing to stand straight.

Jazz waited until Barricade had his feet under him and wasn’t about to slip. He kept a hand on Barricade’s shock collar and made a clicking sound with his mouth to get Barricade’s attention. 

“I’ll lead you to your room,” Jazz said once Barricade was paying attention. “However, you can’t know where we are going. Open up,” Jazz ordered, opening the hardline access panel on his forearm. 

Barricade shied backwards. He didn’t want to let Jazz cable with him. With that kind of access the other mech could do just about anything to him. 

Jazz stepped forward as the other mech stepped back, pinning Barricade between his body and the wall. “Steady,” he soothed the submissive with a calm and even tone. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“What are you going to do?” Barricade said with a shaky voice. 

“You need to trust me,” Jazz said, unhelpfully. This was a test. Everything that happened to Barricade from here on out would be a test, and part of his training. How he reacted, and how quickly he learned to react, would determine how quickly he recovered. 

Jazz could see him thinking, and realized he was being too permissive with this stage of the process. It had been too long since he’d trained Mirage. “Let’s try this,” he said, pulling out Barricade’s bit gag. 

Jazz didn’t know why Barricade was so enamored of the bit gag. He just knew Barricade had reacted positively to being gagged in the past. 

Barricade willingly opened his mouth for the gag, and didn’t resist as Jazz fastened the straps firmly behind his head. Like Mirage with his chastity seals, Jazz mused. Something about being gagged made Barricade relax. It also made Barricade horny, Jazz noticed as he felt Barricade’s field start to soften in the first, mellow stages of arousal.

Jazz pulled out two leashes and attached them to the bit gag, one leash for each side of the gag, forming reins. 

Barricade chewed on his gag nervously, but obediently didn’t struggle. 

Jazz tapped Barricade’s hardline access panel. “Open,” he commanded sternly this time. The tone of his voice told Barricade that Jazz wouldn’t be accepting a ‘no’ this time.

Barricade's panel opened. Jazz smoothly slipped his cable into Barricade’s port, easily controlling Barricade’s slight bucking movement at the abrupt sensation. 

Barricade’s optics fluttered, then clicked off as Jazz’s code spread through Barricade’s systems. Jazz shut down Barricade’s visual sensors, followed by his proximity sensors. Barricade was now effectively blind. 

Barricade froze in primal fear, shaking as his world narrowed down to just him and what was immediately touching him. 

Barricade couldn’t see anything around him, and he couldn’t sense the space around him either. He could feel Jazz’s body against him. He could feel the smooth hardness of the wall at his back, but he couldn’t tell where the table was, or even the other walls. 

Jazz pushed as much reassurance as he could into his field for the panicking mech. “Listen to my voice, Barricade,” he said in a low, commanding voice. “All you need to do is listen to my voice.” 

One of Barricade’s hands came up, clumily groping for Jazz. Jazz easily controlled Barricade’s hands, though, and pinned them back against the wall. 

“If you can hear me, nod,” Jazz commanded. 

Barricade nodded carefully, still disorientated. 

“Continue listening to me,” Jazz said, letting go of Barricade’s hands. “Put your hands by your side.” 

Barricade dropped his hands, but they raised again as Jazz started to step away. 

“Do I need to cuff you?” Jazz asked sternly. 

“...yes.” Barricade said faintly. In his blindness he kept reaching out involuntarily, despite Jazz’s command. The only way he’d keep Jazz’s orders would be if he was cuffed.

“Such a good mech,” Jazz praised Barricade as he removed a strap from his subspace and ran his hands down Barricade’s arms, making sure to acclimate the other emch to his touch. The cuffs that he had used earlier were still attached, so it only took Jazz a matter of seconds before he had Barricade’s hands firmly tied in front of him. 

Jazz took hold of Barricade’s reins and stepped back, carefully kicking the blankets and pillows out of the way. 

He applied a steady pressure to the reins rather than a tug that might unbalance the blind mech. “Come,” he ordered. 

Barricade tentatively stepped forward. His surroundings were now a complete mystery to him. All he could do was follow his master’s commands and the direction of the leash as he was carefully lead across the room. Barricade heard the door to the room swish open, then, a few steps later, he was presumably in the hall. 

Barricade continued to follow Jazz’s steps and the steady pull of the reins as he was lead away. He never even stopped to consider that he was being paraded down the halls of SpecOps covered with lubricant and with his panel hanging open. He just followed his master.

Barricade thought he passed through a couple more doors before he was carefully maneuvered into place and ordered to stand. Jazz’s hand on his hardline access panel made him swing it open immediately, allowing Jazz to cable in. Barricade’s vision and other sensors came back with a rush of data that made him light-headed as he struggled to process all of it. 

Once the flood of sensor data was processed, Barricade was free to look around the new room he found himself in. It was a washracks. The room was sized large enough to accomodate a handful of mechs at one time, but was clearly too small to be a barracks washracks. The small stash of personal cleaning supplies also indicated that the washracks were exclusively used by a smaller group of mechs. Nobody kept personal supplies in the barracks washracks because it would go missing. Barricade didn’t think that the Autobots would be that much different from the Decepticons in that respect. 

While Barricade looked around at his surroundings, Jazz proceeded to secure Barricade. He ran each rein from Barricade’s bit to a ring on opposite sides of the washracks, holding Barricade in place between the two walls. The washracks were equipped with several such non-standard modifications that Barricade would gradually become aware of at the hands of Jazz. Today, though, Barricade needed a wash. 

Barricade startled as Jazz turned on the shower head above him, soaking the bound mech with a downpour of warm water. He looked at his master as Jazz went to the shelves and picked out a bottle of cleanser and a soft cloth. To Barricade’s surprise, Jazz proceeded to wash Barricade down, starting at the top of his head, and working downwards, using a long-handled brush to reach between armor seams. He even remembered to clean the sore welts on the submissive mech’s back with a deft and gentle touch.

Barricade hadn’t had a shower buddy since his friend’s death, (which he now knew was actually a defection). It’d been too long since he’d had the pleasure of another mech helping clean each hard-to-reach seam. Barricade's well-used interface equipment began to stir in slowly re-awakening interest. 

Barricade paid no attention as Jazz removed the shock collar in order to clean Mirage’s dried-on lubricant off his neck cables, or later as Jazz removed the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Barricade’s bit gag stayed on.

Barricade even stood patiently as Jazz bypassed his interface equipment, cleaning the lubricant off his thighs instead. Jazz picked up and cleaned each foot thoroughly, one by one, forcing Barricade to balance on the opposite leg. 

Barricade was very relaxed, and more than a little turned on, by the time Jazz turned the overhead shower back on. Jazz rinsed Barricade off, using the hand sprayer to get all the nooks and crannies of Barricade’s frame. 

Barricade wished Jazz would touch his equipment. 

Jazz, on the other hand, appeared to be completely disinterested, his field neutral and focused. 

Barricade shifted on his feet restlessly, and was surprised when Jazz embraced him from behind. 

“Well... what do we have here?” Jazz said with a chuckle as he cupped Barricade’s valve with one dominating hand, completely assured of his right to Barricade’s body. 

Barricade wouldn’t tell him no, didn't want to tell him no. Instead, Barricade thrust his pelvis forward and into Jazz’s touch. 

“Thought I forgot about this, did you?” Jazz asked rhetorically. He pulled his hand away from Barricade’s valve and Barricade whimpered. He gasped as Jazz’s hand returned, holding the soft cleaning cloth in his hand, which he wrapped firmly around Barricade’s suddenly very rigid spike. 

Instead of masturbating Barricade however, Jazz proceeded to wash Barricade’s spike clean, pulling his hand away before Barricade overloaded, to Barricade’s disappointed groan. 

Jazz walked back to the shelving and rummaged through the contents. Turning around, Barricade could see that Jazz had picked up something that looked like a false spike, and his valve spasmed hungrily. Grinning, Jazz grabbed the end of the mobile spray nozzle and, to Barricade’s confusion, replaced the end of the hose with the false spike.

Jazz stalked towards Barricade with a predator's grace. Barricade tried to widen his legs so as to expose his valve further. He could feel fresh lubricant readying his valve. 

Jazz stepped behind Barricade, then slipped the false spike into Barricade’s valve. Barricade gasped at the abrupt intrusion of the cold spike into his warm, willing, and well-lubricated valve. The false spike was also disappointingly small. As Jazz manipulated it however, Barricade started moving in counterpoint to Jazz’s strong thrusts. 

Then, Jazz tuned on the water. 

Barricade suddenly realized why Jazz had attached the false spike to the hose as warm water suddenly gushed out of multiple holes on the sides of the spike. It mimicked a mech’s ejaculation during overload, but the extra streams stimulated additional nodes inside Barricade’s valve. Also unlike a mech’s lubricant during overload, the water just kept coming. It quickly filled Barricade to overflowing, swirling around his innermost sensors before gushing out of his valve in a wave of sensation. 

“Please...” Barricade begged Jazz. 

Jazz turned the water on full. Barricade’s mouth opened soundlessly as his innermost nodes were ruthlessly stimulated by the force of the rushing water. 

Jazz held Barricade firmly around the waist as the taller mech suddenly arched his back and cried out in overload. Barricade’s valve spasmed, squeezing at the water inside fruitlessly, trying to milk a spike that was not there. 

Jazz’s hand wrapped around Barricade’s own spike as he overloaded, mercilessly milking his submissive though a mind-shattering last orgasm. 

Barricade swayed on his feet in a post-orgasmic haze as Jazz pulled the false spike out of his valve. 

In his haze, Barricade didn’t notice as Jazz walked around him, tidying up and replacing the nozzle. Barricade shuddered as Jazz quickly sprayed his interface equipment clean. 

Jazz steadied Barricade as he turned on the blowers and the two were enveloped in a rush of warm air, drying off all the residual moisture. 

Barricade barely noticed as Jazz checked to make sure his internals were dry before untying Barricade’s reins. 

Barricade felt pleasantly exhausted as Jazz pulled on the reins, guiding him out of the shower and into what looked like a common room. It had a couch, entertainment center, and a few other things he didn’t know the name for. Barricade didn’t care to explore right now, though. After so many overloads he could barely put one foot in front of the other. 

He followed his master’s directions into one of the rooms off the common area. It was a berthroom. It was sparse and clearly unlived in, but a huge step up from the cell he had been expecting. 

Barricade blearily followed Jazz’s directions as the mech settled him down on the berth. He was halfway into recharge as he felt Jazz slip a soft pillow under his head, and arranged a large blanket over his body, carefully tugging it up. 

Barricade was out completely by the time Jazz quickly hardlined into his systems one last time to check Barricade’s fluid levels and general status. Everything was good for now, but Barricade would need a top off once he woke up. Jazz made a note to remember to bring energon and coolant with him when he came back.

Leaving the room, Jazz locked the door behind him. 

Barricade didn't have the shock collar on any more, and he might be in a room, not a cell, but he still wasn’t trusted. The room Jazz had just locked him into had specialised locks and monitoring equipment that made it very hard to escape. It was also in the heart of SpecOps territory. If Barricade did try to escape, he would have to evade the entire Autobot Special Operations, then the bulk of the army. It was arguably more secure than the Autobot brig Barricade would have been thrown into otherwise. 

Jazz programmed the room monitoring system to send him an alert when Barricade showed signs of waking up, but Jazz figured the mech would probably be out for at least a day given his exhaustion. 

Jazz huffed. He’d be spending the next few weeks constantly with Barricade, and Prime wanted an update. He almost wished he’d turned down the promotion when it’d been offered. 

Jazz stopped by his own room to clean up before heading to Optimus’ office for his next meeting.


	4. Jazz's Meeting

It was the silence that caught Prowl’s attention. 

He looked up at the mech that had entered his office and set his stylus down with a soft _click_ next to the datapad he had been working on. 

Jazz stood on the other side of Prowl’s desk, silent and unmoving. Other mechs may find his unusual silence unnerving, but not Prowl. He knew what it meant. He knew what Jazz was asking for.

Prowl didn’t say anything. Instead, he sent a coded ping of acceptance. Jazz knew what to do. 

Jazz stepped back from Prowl’s desk. In the corner of the room there was a large storage chest and a side table. Jazz opened the chest with his code, revealing its contents. He carefully sorted through them, placing an assortment of objects on the table.

Prowl watched. 

Once Jazz was done, he walked to the center of the clear area, leaving the lid of the chest standing open, and stood at rest.

As Prowl shifted forward, he felt a wave of surprise ripple through his chair’s field. It was the first time Prowl had moved in several hours and they were caught off guard. Prowl modulated his field in a soothing way, and sent a confirmation ping, which was answered. 

Prowl walked authoritatively over to the table. His back was turned towards Jazz, but he knew that the other mech would not move without his permission. Prowl inspected the restraints placed there, turning them over in his hands. Though he had checked all of his equipment before it was stored away, he needed to confirm it was still in good condition before it was used again. 

After Prowl was done inspecting the restraints he turned around and inspected Jazz’s body with the same exacting thoroughness. 

Jazz stood patiently. 

No corner of Jazz’s body was spared Prowl’s intense regard as he meticulously ran his fingers down every seam, and checked every corner of Jazz’s plating. Nothing was overlooked. He found the traces drying lubricant around Jazz’s interface panel that had been missed during Jazz’s hasty clean up. Prowl even lifted Jazz’s feet to inspect the tread and opened Jazz’s mouth to inspect his mouth and throat. The entire time Prowl kept his field perfectly flat and even, and his touches dispassionate. 

Jazz was trembling slightly as Prowl finished his inspection. His field was wound up tight and he was clearly looking for release.

Prowl ignored the trembling and turned towards the table, selecting the first restraint, a heavy-duty arm cuff. One by one Prowl took each item from the table and attached it to Jazz’s body. 

Arm cuffs went on each upper arm. Each was heavy-duty, meant to bear Jazz’s weight and spread it out evenly and comfortably across his plating. 

Wrist cuffs went on each wrist. They were lighter, meant to hold securely, but not to suspend. Using a clip, Prowl attached each wrist cuff to its corresponding arm cuff so that Jazz’s arms were folded with his hands on his shoulders. It was the first step towards rendering Jazz helpless. 

Jazz started to relax. 

Next, Prowl took a harness and laid it across Jazz’s chest. He fastened the straps and carefully tightened it, making sure that the pressure would be spread evenly and that nothing was pinched or chafed. 

During the entire process Prowl didn’t say anything to Jazz. He didn’t need to. They’d done this often enough it was a well-worn ritual. 

Another harness was fastened around Jazz’s waist with the same careful attention. 

A second set of cuffs were strapped around his upper legs. Like the cuffs on his upper arms, they were heavy-duty. Like the harnesses, they were meant to hold weight.

The last set of cuffs were around each ankle. 

Prowl guided Jazz down on the floor. The small mech moved smoothly and nimbly, even without the use of his hands. Once he was down, Prowl bent Jazz’s legs backwards and clipped his ankle cuffs to his leg cuffs so that Jazz’s feet were up against his ass.

Jazz went limp. 

Prowl knew it was a front. Jazz hadn’t truly surrendered yet.

Now that Jazz was securely bound, Prowl stood and lowered a winch from a hidden hatch in the ceiling. At the end of the winch was a large, sturdy metal hoop.

Using a selection of straps Prowl fastened Jazz to the ring. Straps were attached to his arm cuffs, chest harness, waist harness, and leg cuffs. Prowl tested each strap before he attached it. 

Once Prowl was satisfied that the straps were secure, he raised Jazz a few inches off the floor and let him hang. 

Jazz stretched as much as he was able, testing his range of motion and adapting to the pull on his plating from the straps and harnesses holding him up.

After a few minutes, Prowl decided that Jazz was ready. He raised Jazz until he hung waist high to the taller mech, a convenient height for fucking. 

Jazz’s field went molten, revealing just how aroused the mech actually was. He writhed, trying to push his interface panel towards Prowl, begging without words. 

Prowl cooly ignored Jazz’s wordless pleas. Instead he moved to Jazz’s head. 

Jazz knew what was coming, and tried to squirm away from Prowl’s hands as the other mech placed his finger tips against the sides of Jazz’s visor. Jazz thrashed, trying to dislodge Prowl’s hold as the other mech found the hidden access panel and initiated the manual release locks. Within moments, Prowl had Jazz’s visor retracted and locked open. With that simple act Prowl knew that he had rendered Jazz more naked and vulnerable than if Prowl had opened Jazz’s interface panel. 

Still silent, Prowl released Jazz’s head, walked back to his desk, and sat down. The contentedly aroused field of his chair welcomed him back, enveloping him in a haze of warmth. Completely ignoring the bound mech hanging in the middle of his office, Prowl picked up his stylus and continued working on the document that he had set aside when Jazz had first come in. 

Prowl knew that Jazz could get free easily, he was the head of Special Operations for a reason. But that wasn’t the point of this ritual. As a former SpecOps mech, Prowl understood the dark deeds that happened in the shadows. He understood why the SpecOps mechs stayed separate from the usual denizens of the Autobot base. He understood why Jazz needed this.

While Prowl was working, Jazz was flying. 

There were no distractions for Jazz’s body in Prowl’s office. He was controlled and bound tight, unable to move, leaving his mind free to churn.

He was lost in a loop of denial, hunger, and need. 

Jazz’s ethics fought with his darker desires as he contemplated what had happened in the Interrogation room with Barricade and Mirage, and what he had to do to Barricade. 

Jazz thrashed in his bonds as he worked though the puzzle that had landed on his lap. Another delightful little fuck toy for his amusement... 

Quietly, Optimus Prime slipped through the door. The series of quiet clicks as the door closed behind him indicated that the office was sealed now. Nobody would be leaving until Prowl was satisfied. 

Optimus Prime took a moment to consider the mech tied up and waiting for him. As usual, Prowl’s calculations were correct. By the feel of his field, Jazz was only moments from surrender. Then, they’d be able to talk. 

As his commanding officer examined his captive third in command, Prowl again set down his stylus and stood up. 

A quick set of pings passed between Prowl and his chair. The mech entombed inside was already bound, blind, deaf, mute, and more than happy to stay exactly where they were. 

The office was secure from prying eyes and ears.

Prowl walked across the room and stood on the other side of Jazz from Optimus Prime. The two mechs loomed over Jazz’s suspended body. 

“Jazz,” Optimus Prime let the gravity of the situation flavor his voice. “Explain the actions you and your second in command took while interrogating Barricade.” 

Optimus Prime carefully kept his field neutral. He needed to hear the facts from his Special Operations Commander. Optimus knew that Jazz was not stupid, he knew where the lines were. The Autobot code strictly forbade the rape of prisoners. Due to the power imbalance between captive and captor, any sexual contact, no matter how willing, was considered rape. 

Jazz thrashed in his bonds. In his uncovered eyes, Optimus could practically see his keen mind page though his options before he settled on the truth. 

“There is a mitigating factor,” Jazz said hoarsely. 

“There are no mitigating factors allowed for under the Autobot Code,” Prowl pointed out. 

Jazz lurched upwards, using his flexible frame to raise his upper body so that he was almost sitting. “Only because we didn't know the possibility existed,” Jazz said, venom thick in his voice. 

Jazz dropped back into the embrace of the straps. “Barricade is branded,” he said, pointedly not looking at either mech. 

“The fact that Barricade carries a Decepticon brand is not a mitigating factor,” Prowl said, as much as some of the more... enthusiastic Autobot commanders tried to argue when they were brought up on charges. 

“Not a Decepticon brand,” Jazz ground out. “Remember when I brought Mirage over?” 

Optimus Prime and Prowl shared a glance. They both knew Mirage’s story. Both the public version that was in the Autobot records, as well as the classified version sealed in the Special Operations records. 

“He has the same brand?” Optimus Prime asked to clarify. If true, that changed everything. 

“Ratchet confirmed it,” Jazz said. 

Prowl opened a highly-encrypted comm line to Ratchet. After a minute he looked up at Optimus Prime. “Confirmed.” 

“So, Mirage was not an isolated incident,” Optimus Prime mused. His field flashed briefly with righteous fury as he contemplated the possibility, before smoothing it out with a politician’s practiced skill.

Jazz writhed as Optimus Prime’s field danced over him.

“Barricade was apparently a friend of Mirage’s from before,” Jazz said. “It’s possible it’s the same perpetrator that did it to both of them.” 

Prowl reached for the trembling mech, idly resting a hand on Jazz’s abdomen. 

Jazz twisted, trying to get Prowl to touch him more. He needed. 

“How were you able to tell he was branded?” Prowl asked. 

“Didn’t.” Jazz shook his head. “Mirage suspected. Used his own authority to pull him in for questioning when he was captured during the latest raid.”

“Does Mirage know of any others?” Optimus Prime asked. He wanted to find all of the victims of this twisted mech and help them. He also wanted to find the perpetrator and bring them to justice. 

Jazz grinned. “Mirage said you’d ask that.”

Optimus Prime stilled, then checked something in his message queue. “That would explain the list of names he sent me not too long ago.” Optimus Prime forwarded the list to both Jazz and Prowl. 

Prowl hissed, reviewing the names. “Many of these are Decepticons. They’re not going to just allow us to strip their armor off looking for a brand. We need a way to identify them without an invasive search.” 

“Pass the request to Ratchet. He’s not an inventor, but he’s already in on the secret,” Jazz decided. “He already has SpecOps clearance as well. I’ll need to clear any other mech you want to add to the project.” 

“Perceptor,” Prowl replied quickly. The question hadn’t required much contemplation. 

Jazz nodded. He’d get it done. Considering Perceptor's existing clearance level, it wouldn’t take much. 

“Is that necessary?” Optimus Prime asked. The clearance Jazz was talking about wasn’t the general Autobot background clearance, this was Special Operations clearance. It was very invasive. 

“You’ve seen the reports on Mirage’s coding,” Jazz said. 

“Have you confirmed that Barricade has the same coding?” Optimus Prime asked. 

“Yes,” Jazz said tersely. 

“In order to save him, he must be broken, then,” Optimus Prime came to the uneasy conclusion. They had been through this once before with Mirage. Their attempts to be gentle had left Mirage almost dead. As harsh as it was, breaking him had been the only humane option at the time. “Is there another option?”

Prowl shook his head. “No other option provided as good of an outcome.” After the drama with Mirage, Ratchet and Prowl had taken the sample they had of Mirage’s code and tested it using every scenario they could think of. Prowl pulled up the report they had written and sent off a summary of their findings to Jazz and Optimus Prime to refresh their memories. In short, there was nothing to be done. Any ‘gentler’ approach attempted in the simulations ended up with a dead or catatonic mech. Whoever had designed the coercion code had been a genius... and very twisted. Any attempt to circumvent or shut down the coding left the infected mech effectively lobotomized. They’d be free, but they’d be little more than a doll. Jazz’s solution had been an act of desperation and the result of the mech channeling his worst impulses and desires. And it had worked. 

“I... I don’t want to,” Jazz brokenly confessed. 

A deep and twisted part of Jazz enjoyed having his own pliant little fuckslave. But he also wanted them to be willing, or else it wasn’t as fun. What had been done to Mirage — and also Barricade — made him furious. A part of Jazz was furious because he hadn’t been the one to do it. 

Ultimately, though, taking Barricade on meant more responsibility for Jazz. Just like with Mirage, he would need to nurture and protect Barricade, even from himself. The urge to take it too far, to completely dismantle Barricade’s sense of self, to remake him in the image of his most twisted desires, was an ever-present intrusive thought in the back of his mind. Given the type of damage done to both mechs, the responsibility might even be for life.

Optimus Prime and Prowl were aware of this as they looked down at the bound mech hanging between them. 

“I have the skill to break Barricade in,” Prowl offered. “I can take the burden off you.” 

“Wouldn’t be as effective.” Jazz laughed without humor. “Barricade’s coding is already fixated on me.” Mirage was devious, and Jazz suspected that the sly mech had wanted a companion and fellow submissive. Well... he had one now. “When we get another one we can talk about it.” 

Optimus Prime looked disturbed by the possibility of more like Mirage and Barricade out there. Jazz smiled inwardly. Optimus Prime was too good for the world that Jazz inhabited. 

Jazz used what leverage he had to try to bring Optimus’ attention back to him. He arched his body alluringly in his bondage, trying to attract the larger mech enough so that Optimus Prime would finally use him, fuck him, and drive the darker thoughts away, even if just for a few hours. His heated field danced across Prowl and Optimus’. 

Meanwhile, complicated calculations ran through Prowl’s battle computers as he gazed down at Jazz. He looked up at Optimus Prime and sent him a plan. 

Optimus looked at Prowl and nodded, agreeing with Prowl’s proposal. 

Jazz watched their byplay and whined. He could feel the building change in the room. They were talking about him. 

Prowl smiled one of his rare, secretive smiles and turned, walking back to sit in his chair. The welcoming field of his chair meshed nicely with his own mildly aroused field. 

“Jazz,” Optimus said, his voice deeper than normal. 

Jazz whined softly. He knew that voice. It was Optimus’ ‘worship and obey me’ voice. 

Jazz squealed as the winch started and his body rose to the height of Optimus’ pelvis. He threw his head back. “Oh, fuck me now!” he exclaimed dramatically.

Optimus chuckled and took a firm grip on Jazz’s thighs, pulling the now-limp mech firmly towards him. He passed one broad hand across Jazz’s interface panel teasingly. “Look at me,” he growled the order in his deep voice. 

Jazz’s panel snapped open with unashamed speed, exposing his still recessed spike and very generously lubricated valve. He hadn’t been spiked since Ratchet had fucked him with his magnificently ribbed monster _hours_ ago. After spending that time surrounded by the hungry fields of his two slutty little toys, Jazz wanted — no — needed to be fucked. 

“You will find what you need in section 3B,” Prowl called, answering a comm from Optimus. 

Prowl reached for the control panel for his chair and adjusted the intensity slightly upward. By subtly changing the pattern of the stimulation his chair was receiving, Prowl was able to modulate their field for his enjoyment. Prowl sat back to enjoy the new sensations rippling through his chair’s field where it enveloped his own. He opened up his hardline interface paneling and uncoiled his connectors. 

Optimus stepped back, allowing Jazz’s body to swing lightly as he dangled helplessly in the center of the open space. Meanwhile, Optimus rummaged around in Prowl’s meticulously organized toy chest and slipped a small collection of objects into his subspace. 

While Optimus was preparing himself, Prowl plugged into the charge buffer in his chair and reversed the flow. The mech encapsulated within the chair was plugged into the other side of the connection. Normally, Prowl used the one way connection to ground his charge, drawing it off and into the mech inside his chair, so that he could concentrate on work during the day. The effect that the extra charge had on his plaything was a pleasant bonus.

Now, with the flow reversed, his chair’s excess charge would flow to Prowl. The effect was like slamming into a wall of lust at top speed as the erotic ecstasy built up inside of Prowl’s plaything was redirected straight into Prowl’s systems.

Prowl shuddered and gripped the arms of his chair as static danced across his armor. His plaything had just gone through yet another overload. 

As he came down from the high, Prowl pinged, but the plaything was content to stay where he was. That was okay. He and Prime had some business to take care of first. 

Prowl gently nudged the controls downward so that the build up would be slower this time, and settled in to watch the show. 

While Prowl had been preoccupied with his chair’s overload, Optimus had opened a large bottle of artificial lubricant and poured a generous amount of lubricant into one palm while Jazz watched. 

“Please, please, please, please...” Jazz chanted steadily as Optimus deftly snapped the bottle shut and placed it back in his subspace.

Jazz tried to thrust himself up against Optimus’ hand as Optimus slowly swirled his slick fingers around the outer ring of Jazz’s valve, but his complete lack of leverage left him unable to do more than gently sway. Optimus continued to methodically stimulate each and every exterior sensor as he worked his way around Jazz’s valve, never lingering long enough to tip Jazz over. 

“Don’t fucking tease!” Jazz snarled in frustration as Optimus pulled away. His chaotic emotions formed a seething maelstrom inside of him. His rapidly growing lustful craving started took over his turbulent fury, redirecting it. 

Optimus pressed one hand against Jazz’s chest, stopping his body’s swaying (and getting lubricant all over his chest). His other hand cupped Jazz’s head and forced the smaller mech to look at him. As he stared down Jazz, Optimus had his interface protocols ping Jazz’s systems, revealing Jazz’s valve presets to the larger mech. Optimus nodded as the information confirmed his suspicions. “I will not take a valve too small to handle me,” he said gravely. “Since you are using a setting that is too tight to admit me without damage, I will not penetrate you until you have been sufficiently opened.” Optimus removed his hand from Jazz’s chest and carefully eased one fingertip past the entrance of Jazz’s moist valve, feeling the internal mesh shudder as it clamped down on his finger. 

“C’mon,” whined Jazz. “I can take it.” 

“Patience,” Optimus rebuked the smaller mech. He smoothly slid his finger in all the way. 

Jazz’s back bowed. Optimus’ finger alone was as large as a small mech’s spike. It stretched him, not excessively, but enough that he could feel the slight sting and an amber warning popped up on his HUD. Optimus’ spike would be considerably larger. 

Optimus was partially satisfied by what he felt. At least his finger did not bottom out. That meant that, even though Jazz had a tight valve setting, he had not made it shallower as well. Optimus released Jazz’s head so that he could focus on preparing the smaller mech’s valve.

Jazz whimpered and struggled as Optimus slowly pumped his finger in and out of Jazz’s valve, feeling along his inner mesh, gauging its elasticity. 

As he watched Optimus prime Jazz for penetration, Prowl used his control pad to play the mech inside his chair like an instrument designed solely for his pleasure. Prowl slowly modulated his plaything’s controls, the hardline connection continuing to feed him the secondhand sensation from the mech. His goal was to wring out another satisfying overload for himself. As long as the mech inside didn’t tap out, or until playtime ended, they were Prowl’s to play with. 

Jazz keened as Optimus slipped in a second finger, stretching his valve even further. More warnings popped up on Jazz’s HUD as Optimus slowly rotated his fingers, feeling the obscenely lubricated mesh of Jazz’s valve slipping over his knuckles. 

After a minute of manipulating Jazz’s valve walls, Optimus stopped, pulling out his hand long enough to apply another layer of lubrication. Not that Optimus really needed to. By this time, Jazz’s natural lubrication had started overproducing in anticipation of the large spike his valve sensors were anticipating. Lubrication dripped freely, forming a small puddle on the floor directly below Jazz’s crotch. However, Optimus has his own agenda.

Optimus inserted two fingers again, holding them still for a long minute until a desperate Jazz started trying to move again, trying to fuck himself up against Optimus’ fingers. Optimus gently stopped Jazz’s swing and slowly scissored his fingers open, stretching the sides of Jazz’s valve gently, but relentlessly. He steadily manipulated the mesh walls of Jazz’s valve, encouraging the mechanisms to relax and make way. 

“Fuck me,” Jazz pleaded brokenly as arousal crackled across his plating. His valve was so full, so warm. If Optimus kept it up he would overload, and, as much as he loved Optimus’s hands, Jazz loved his spike more. 

“Give in,” Optimus cajoled, his finger finding a bundle of sensors inside Jazz’s valve, tripping the mech into a small overload. 

Jazz wailed in satisfied frustration. The overload had only been enough to draw off a small amount of charge. The rest continued building as Optimus gently swirled and probed at Jazz’s valve walls. Jazz knew that Optimus would continue with the gentle torment until Jazz gave in. 

Sobbing, Jazz reset his interface protocols to a setting more compatible to Optimus’ build. 

Optimus felt Jazz’s compliance as the valve around his fingers suddenly stretched out around his fingers. When Optimus pinged Jazz’s systems again, the setting that came back was much more reasonable. Tight, but not dangerously so. 

Optimus finally retracted his interface paneling, allowing his spike to fully pressurize. It rested against Jazz’s abdomen, allowing the smaller mech to feel just how far up his torso it would reach. Then, Optimus took his spike in hand and pulled his hips back so that he could align the tip of his spike with the entrance to Jazz’s valve. He ran his hand down his spike, spreading the mixture of lubricants, both artificial and natural, across the biolights and ridges of his prodigious spike. 

Jazz’s legs twitched as he tried to pull himself closer to Optimus’ unmoving frame. However, his folded legs allowed him no purchase. He went slack against his bonds. “You know, one of these days you could just make your spike smaller instead of making me make my valve larger,” Jazz said flippantly.

Optimus leaned down over Jazz, one hand still on his spike. “Jazz. We both know.” Optimus dipped his voice into a rumbling purr. “You prefer it this way.”

As Optimus gently pressed his spike against Jazz’s valve, the hanging mech gently swung away, pushed by the initial resistance of his valve to the penetration of Optimus’ immense spike. “Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” Jazz chanted until, with a small pop, the head of Optimus’ spike pierced the opening of Jazz’s valve. Then Optimus took a solid grip with both hands on Jazz’s hips and slowly, millimeter by millimeter, pulled the small mech onto his large spike. 

Optimus’s spike gradually bottomed out, and Jazz’s words vanished in a shriek as the sensors at the end of his valve were steadily compressed and the building charge discharged in a crackle of electricity snapping across his armor. Jazz shuddered through the small overload and went limp in Optimus’ hands. 

Sitting in his chair, Prowl allowed himself and his plaything a moderate overload as well. His doorwings trembled against the back of the chair as he slouched back in what most would consider a shocking display for the head tactician and second in command of the Autobot army. 

Optimus released Jazz’s thighs and reached into his subspace, pulling out an adjustable strap. He swiftly passed it around his hips and clipped it to Jazz’s thigh restraints. 

As Optimus cinched the strap tight, Jazz swiftly realized that he had lost what little leverage he had, and was now even more helpless. Jazz was tightly secured against the larger mech’s pelvis, Optimus’ mighty spike trapped inside of his valve. Jazz could only receive what Optimus had planned for the rest of this encounter.

Jazz’s field trembled in anticipation.

Optimus pulled a slim box out of his subspace. 

Jazz, curious, curled his torso to get a better look as Optimus picked a stainless steel rod out of the box.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Jazz said, dropping his upper body back down to rest in the straps that held and supported him in place. 

“Indeed,” Optimus said in his deep voice, and Jazz just knew that the bastard was smirking behind his mask as he put away the box. 

Jazz groaned as Optimus reached beneath him, swiping one broad finger through the lubricant that had squished out between his spike and Jazz’s valve. Optimus used it to delicately lubricate the sound he held while Jazz watched hungrily.

When Optimus finally reached for Jazz’s spike, Jazz was startled to realize that it had pressurized without him realizing. 

Jazz was helpless to act as Optimus gently placed the tip of the rod on the tip of his spike. Optimus swirled the sound carefully, rubbing over the narrow opening that it would soon be embedded in. 

Jazz tried to squirm, but the strap around Optimus’ hips held him firmly in place. He watched, captivated, as Optimus carefully inserted the sound into Jazz’s spike and slowly drove it inward, millimeter by millimeter. 

Jazz moaned as he realized that Optimus was fucking Jazz’s spike as he had fucked Jazz’s valve. The thought, combined with the raw sensitivity of the narrow channel, drove Jazz’s charge higher.

Optimus teasingly manipulated the sound, using it to caress the sensors of Jazz’s spike, but from the inside. The unaccustomed sensation built with each advance and retreat of the sound. 

“Fuck me!” Jazz yelled in frustrated lust. Optimus’ spike was lodged in his valve, motionless. It teased him, just as sure as Optimus toying with the sound was teasing him.

Optimus’ field was smooth and calm, belying the crackling charge that Jazz could see just starting to sparkle on the edges of the large mech’s plating. 

Across the room, Prowl stretched contentedly. He was surrounded by his plaything’s aroused field as the unseen mech was stimulated for Prowl’s pleasure. Lubricant built up behind Prowl’s intimate plating, but had yet to overflow. He watched the pleasurable tableau before him, enjoying his own personal performance. 

“I will,” Optimus said gravely. “First, you must surrender,” he said with a twist of the sound. 

Jazz sobbed as the turmoil whipped through his body and field. He knew what Optimus was asking for. It wasn’t the first time that Optimus had disciplined him, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Jazz was a mech who operated on the fringes of society; in the dark places where morals faltered and concepts like mercy were forgotten too easily. It wasn’t the first time that Optimus had stood as the balance keeping Jazz from succumbing to his darkest impulses and the temptations of his occupation. Optimus was every bright, shiny ideal and aspiration Jazz had ever had wrapped up in gloriously red and blue plating. 

Prowl, being closer to the dirty realities of the undercity, held Jazz accountable, but it was Optimus who commanded Jazz’s loyalty.

Jazz wrestled with the seductive whisper of dark temptation, and measured it against the siren allure of Prime. That intangible presence that a true Prime had pulled in and captivated his followers, and held their loyalty. Worse, Jazz knew that — if he really wanted to — Prime would let him go. That thought, like always, made the decision for him. The promises of the darkness could not overpower his sheer terror at the mere thought of the loss of Prime’s warm light. 

As Jazz’s mind became resigned, his field smoothed out in a deceptive calmness that hid the strong tides of simmering desire and lust underneath. Jazz’s mind may have settled, but his body was still a seething cauldron of agonized arousal. 

Sensing Jazz’s surrender, Optimus’ chest plates slowly parted. Like a sun rising over the mountains, the dual glow of his spark and of the Matrix of Leadership illuminated his noble face.

Jazz wailed an ugly high-pitched sound as the light washed over him. The power of a true Prime called to the most primitive portions of his being. It awakened old code, older than any living mech, that called Cybertronians to serve the Prime, Primus’ chosen avatar. 

Jazz’s chest plates opened in inevitable response, baring his spark in front of his liege lord, for whatever Optimus Prime should desire, even if it meant his life. 

Optimus magnetized the sound in place in Jazz’s slit, the magnetic fields complementing Jazz’s charge and helping subtly ramp it higher. Lubricant flowed sluggishly, welling up around the sound, preventing heated metal from spontaneously welding itself together. 

That done, Optimus reached forward and caressed the outer corona of Jazz’s spark. 

Jazz wailed soundlessly as Optimus’ heavy fingers gently carded through the tendrils of light. The sensation passed beyond the physical, tapping into Jazz’s most fundamental emotions and desires. 

Optimus caressed the very core of what made Jazz, Jazz. 

Jazz lay helpless in Optimus’ control as the larger mech removed his hand from Jazz’s spark and slipped his hands behind Jazz’s shoulders. Optimus’ large frame effortlessly pulled Jazz’s upper body horizontal with Optimus’ torso. Their size difference meant that Jazz’s spark didn’t line up with Optimus’ spark, but that was no obstacle to the Matrix-enhanced light. 

Jazz convulsed as the overwhelming feelings radiating from his very spark touched off a series of minor overloads in his spike and valve. Lubricant flowed freely, coating both Jazz and Optimus’ pelvises. 

Jazz swore his vows to Prime in delirious babbling. Vows of fealty, vows of obedience, vows of loyalty; all fell from his lips in an unending stream of sound that Jazz was only half-aware of.

Optimus Prime just smiled down at Jazz and gently stroked his back with one large, warm hand.

Optimus’ spark light did not reach Prowl. However Prowl had been riding the edge of his overload so for so long that just the memory of past merges with Optimus threw Prowl over the edge. Prowl’s plaything followed soon after. As his plaything’s overload-excited field fluctuated, it triggered aftershocks in Prowl’s systems, prolonging his pleasure. 

Prowl’s panel was no longer able to hold in his passion, and the seat of his chair was becoming moist with lubricant. He sagged sideways as his body trembled in reaction to the intense feedback.

Gradually, Optimus Prime allowed his chest panels to close. He gently lowered Jazz back down so that his limp weight was held once more by the straps suspending him from the ceiling. 

Jazz was wrung out and energized all at the same time. He was distantly aware of what he had said while he was under the influence, and he was aware of Optimus’ amused field. Jazz lay limp in his bondage, attempting to pull himself back together after he had been so expertly shattered. There was no longer room for any darkness within him. 

Jazz knew it would not last. Once he left the room, left Optimus’ presence, the darkness would slowly return. But for now, he basked in Optimus’ freeing light. 

Optimus’ hand on his cheek brought Jazz’s attention back around. “Jazz?” Optimus asked in a low, soothing rumble.

Jazz shivered as the resonant sound of Optimus’ voice vibrated through where he was still connected to the other mech by Optimus’ spike embedded in his valve. “Yes,” he said, trying to hide how shaky he was and failing.

“Do you still want me to fuck you?” Optimus asked seriously. 

It took Jazz’s addled mind a few moments to process what Optimus had just asked. His body spasmed as realization hit him. Even after such a mindblowing overload, Jazz would have to be insane to turn down sex with Optimus Prime. 

“Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes,” Jazz chanted quickly, slurring the word into a wall of sound that only stopped when, smiling, Optimus covered Jazz’s mouth with his broad hand. 

Jazz impatiently stared at Optimus with large eyes as the large mech once again slipped his hands underneath Jazz’s body, holding him slightly up. 

The sudden appearance of a second set of hands startled Jazz, but Optimus easily controlled the small mech’s flinch. The hands started undoing the straps suspending Jazz from the ceiling. 

It was Prowl.

Prowl had left his dazed and satisfied chair, carefully disconnecting the hardline connection first so that he didn’t cause an undesirable negative feedback loop for his plaything. He then followed the plan for Jazz’s correction that he had given to Optimus Prime at the start of the scene. 

Once the straps holding Jazz’s upper body suspended were gone, Optimus slowly lowered Jazz’s body until he was no longer supporting the smaller mech’s weight. 

Prowl, standing behind Jazz, gently took Jazz’s head in his hands and, with a gentle but inexorable pull, forced Jazz to drop his head even lower, bending Jazz’s flexible body into an elegant backwards arch. 

Jazz realized what the plan was as Prowl’s rampant spike came into view. 

Optimus was taller than Prowl. In order for both mechs to use him, Jazz had to be at two different heights. Thanks to Jazz’s extreme flexibility, he could be bent over backwards in such a way that his head was at a convenient height for Prowl to use his mouth, but his pelvis was still high enough for Optimus to use. With his arms still bound, Jazz was helpless to Prowl and Optimus’ whims. 

Prowl kept a firm hold on Jazz’s head as he rubbed his spike on Jazz’s cheeks, smearing lubricant across them. “Open,” he ordered in the same steady tone that he used to give orders on the battlefield. 

Jazz obediently opened his mouth, and Prowl was able to slide his spike in smoothly and without pause all the way to the back of Jazz’s well-trained throat. Prowl paused.

Jazz wanted to yell at Prowl to keep fucking him, but before he could Jazz was distracted when Optimus removed the strap holding Jazz fastened to Optimus’ hips. The sudden release of tension caused Jazz to swing lightly, slipping off of Optimus’ spike. Jazz was momentarily disappointed by the loss of Optimus’ magnificent spike, but he was consoled with the thought that the large mech would now be able to properly pound his needy valve. Jazz whined around Prowl’s spike in anticipation of a strong fucking from Prime. 

The first, merciless thrust caught Jazz off guard. Jazz’s whine turned into a shout, vibrating Prowl’s spike and causing the other mech to growl. Jazz tried to curl his body in response, but he could not with Prowl’s spike in his mouth and his head trapped between Prowl’s thighs. 

On the other hand, Jazz had an excellent view of Prowl’s own exposed valve dripping lubricant down his thigh. 

Jazz gave up and went limp again, allowing his body be used. Optimus Prime and Prowl quickly coordinated a steady rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, fucking deep into Jazz’s valve and mouth respectively. 

Meanwhile, Jazz released his thoughts to drift as his body rode the rising charge. He meditatively watched the biolights around Prowl’s valve pulse gently with the other mech’s rising excitement. 

Jazz wished he could lick Prowl’s node. 

Suddenly Jazz squealed as Optimus palmed Jazz’s spike and started smoothly jacking it in rhythm. The sound, which was still embedded deep in Jazz’s spike, added a pleasure bordering nearly on pain that accented Jazz’s charge and quickly drove him over the edge, hard. 

Jazz sobbed as he overloaded almost embarrassingly fast, charge crackling across his body and snapping at Prowl and Optimus. Fresh lubricant flowed from Jazz’s valve and oozed out around the sound in his spike, decorating Optimus’ thighs and Jazz’s abdomen. 

Optimus and Prowl both paused for a moment while Optimus gently extracted the sound, then they started again, both mechs now focused solely on chasing their own pleasure. 

Prowl was the first to come. He overloaded, gripping Jazz’s head tightly and pressing his spike to the hilt down Jazz’s throat. Lubricant flowed freely. At the presence of fluid in Jazz’s throat, his swallow reflex engaged, clearing his throat and massaging the tip of Prowl’s spike. 

As the contractions of Jazz’s throat died away, Prowl withdrew, absently fondling Jazz’s slack face and drooling lips. 

Once Prowl disengaged, Optimus didn’t need to hold back his strength any more out of fear of breaking Jazz in half. Jazz whimpered mindlessly as Optimus’ powerful hips drove his spike into Jazz’s valve with merciless skill. Over and over again Optimus plundered Jazz’s defenseless valve, burying his massive spike to the hilt, hammering away relentlessly at Jazz’s ceiling node until, with a series of short, sharp thrusts, Optimus came. Lubricant overflowed Jazz’s already overfilled valve and spattered on the floor with an obscene sound. 

Optimus lowered a hand to where his spike disappeared into Jazz’s spasming valve and ruthlessly manipulated Jazz’s exterior node until, with a scream, Jazz overloaded again.

Jazz’s limp body felt like it was floating as Optimus gently pulled out. 

Jazz’s mind hovered in a blissed-out mindless haze as Optimus gently took Jazz in his arms and tenderly cradled the mech while Prowl removed the remaining straps holding Jazz captive, including the straps that had kept his legs and arms folded and helpless. 

Jazz’s body was limp in his arms as Optimus carefully sat down on the floor and reclined on a mound of pillows that Prowl had provided. 

Jazz knew that Prowl liked to pretend he was a hard ass. However, Jazz knew his secret. He knew Prowl kept a whole closet full of sturdy pillows and warm blankets in his office for whoever his toy of the day was.

Jazz was suddenly giggly. Optimus and Prowl were saying something, but they weren’t talking to him, so he didn’t have to pay attention. A warm cloth wiped down his chest, pelvis, and thighs, carefully wiping away the worst of the lubricant. Jazz squirmed as it gently passed over his still-sensitive spike and valve. He didn’t have the awareness to notice as Prowl did the same for Optimus. 

Jazz luxuriated in the fact that he didn’t need to focus, and he didn’t need to concentrate, he just had to be. He spread himself over Prime’s chest, rubbing his cheek on the smooth plating that covered Optimus’ spark. Optimus’ chuckle caused a pleasant rumbling that Jazz could feel in his chest.

Eventually, Prowl finished cleaning up and joined the two of them. He cuddled up against Optimus’ side, in the crook of Optimus’ arm, and threw an arm across Optimus’ chest so he could touch Jazz. 

Gradually the glow wore off and Jazz’s mind rejoined the here and now. 

Jazz looked up as Optimus stirred underneath him. 

Optimus smiled down at Jazz and ran a finger across the smaller mech’s lips. “With us now?”

Jazz nodded. 

Optimus tapped Jazz’s lips in a soft rebuke. 

Jazz cleared his vocalizer, but the word still came out hazy with static. “Yes.”

Optimus slowly stroked his warm hand down Jazz’s back. “I grant you whatever forgiveness I can, but you will not have full absolution until you talk to Mirage about what is weighing on your spark.”

Jazz turned Optimus’s words over in his head. It was true, but it was not what he wanted to hear. “Given the damage done to Mirage, how can I know his feelings are true, and that he is not just doing it to please me?” The programming that had been done to Mirage — the coding that Jazz had broken him of — had been designed to make Mirage a mindlessly obedient slave. It was impossible to know if Mirage’s reactions were true, or were due to behavior learned under the influence of the malicious coding.

Optimus Prime stroked Jazz’s back plating comfortingly as he considered Jazz’s question. He couldn’t brush off Jazz’s concerns as unfounded. They were the same concerns that he had been turning over in his head since they had first discovered the truth of what happened to Mirage. They were the same concerns that he had to consider again, now that he had learned of Barricade’s existence, and the probable existence of more mechs like him. There was no one answer that addressed all possible lingering questions, but Optimus did his best. 

“We all are all a collection of the experiences that have shaped us. Some we chose, some were chosen for us. You have done your best to give Mirage back his ability to choose. Trust in that foundation.”

Jazz turned it over in his mind. “I’ll talk to Mirage after he comes back from his mission. It’s no good to go prying into emotional depths when he needs to be at his best.”

Prowl stirred. “I’ll prepare Mirage for his mission.” At Jazz’s sharp look he explained, “You need to focus on Barricade right now, and I am perfectly capable of the task.”

Jazz frowned, but nodded. Prowl was correct. He had planned the mission, and as a former SpecOps mech Prowl was uniquely capable. “Ratchet’s got Mirage for the day,” Jazz let Prowl know. “Ratchet had Hound pick him up from Interrogation earlier. Mirage still has his spike seal on, so he’s going to be useless until that’s removed and the charge fucked out of him. Ratchet’ll take care of that, then do his pre-mission checkup.”

Prowl nodded and made a note to coordinate with Ratchet. 

The three mechs laid there in comfortable silence for a few minutes longer before Jazz craned his head to look at Prowl. “What about your current plaything? Are they ready to come out?” 

Jazz knew who it was already, and how long they had been in there. He kept track of all his mechs, and Prowl understood that. Prowl’s current plaything hadn’t shown any signs of distress, so there hadn’t been any need for Jazz to get involved while in the middle of his own scene. 

Jazz waited for Prowl — as the dominant in charge of the scene — to contact his plaything. The answer must have been positive because soon after Prowl rose to his feet and walked over to the chair. Jazz watched, fascinated as Prowl disassembled the furniture, removing the top and folding down the sides to reveal the tightly curled mech who had been entombed within. No matter how often Jazz saw it in action, or the few times he had been caged within it himself, the complexity involved always impressed him. 

Prowl carefully unhooked the yellow mech from the medical-grade energon and coolant drips, disconnecting the mech’s cable from the chair’s buffer. Gently, Prowl helped the small mech uncurl. They were noticeably stiff after having been boxed in for the better part of a day. With soft hands Prowl unclipped the remaining wires and leads, some of which were used for health monitoring, while most were used for erotic stimulation. 

Bumblebee’s optics, which had been turned off while he was inside the box, slowly started to flicker back to life. 

Once Prowl had coaxed Bumblebee into a loose sprawl, he manually opened the yellow mech’s interface panel and removed the large, multi-function vibrator from Bumblebee’s valve. Bumblebee flinched with a sigh as Prowl carefully peeled conductive tape from the nodes around the outside of Bumblebee’s valve and spike. Prowl then wiped down Bumblebee with a warm cloth, removing the worst of the mess of lubricant from Bumblebee’s frame while trying not to arouse the over-stimulated mech any further than he had to. 

When Prowl was done, he covered Bumblebee in a warm blanket, scooped him up in his arms, and carried the small mech over to where Jazz and Optimus were reclined on the floor. Prowl gently deposited the drained mech in Jazz’s arms before settling back in his place next to Optimus. 

Bumblebee’s eyes were still calibrating, but he could clearly feel Prowl, Jazz, and Optimus’ welcoming fields around him. They were all clearly contented. Bumblebee didn’t know why Jazz and Optimus were here, and he didn't really care. The disconnection he felt was countered by the cocoon of warm bodies and warm fields. The warm blanket also helped, as did the mighty spark that thrummed beneath the plating under his head. 

Contented, Bumblebee floated off into recharge, followed closely by Jazz.


	5. Release the Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 95% kinky smut  
> 5% blink-and-you'll-miss-it plot

Hound was waiting in the hallway outside the Interrogation room as Mirage left. He smirked widely as he gave the elegant submissive a thorough visual inspection. Mirage had clearly been used hard. His normally impeccable finish was liberally scuffed and lubricant soaked Mirage’s thighs, dripping from his uncovered valve. 

Hound licked his lips. 

Mirage gracefully pivoted to face Hound, giving the other mech a perfect view of the chastity seal that still covered his spike. 

That was unexpected. Hound cut off a whine at the thought of the fun they would have when Ratchet finally released Mirage from his chastity. Every mech, submissive or dominant, that Mirage played with knew that after he was released, Mirage wanted to fuck and be fucked until he literally could take no more. 

Mirage smirked and sauntered up to Hound with a seductive shimmy of his hips. 

Due to their complementary skill sets, the two mechs were often partnered together on missions, and Hound had become skilled at reading the spy’s body language, both in and out of the berth. Hound didn’t miss the deep exhaustion that Mirage was hiding under his skilled seduction. He’d have to keep tonight’s teasing short, not that Ratchet had given him much leeway. 

Mirage laid one hand on Hound’s broad chest, teasingly tracing the center seam upwards until he was caressing the sturdy collar around Hound’s throat. Unlike Mirage’s exquisitely elegant collar, Hound’s more utilitarian collar suited him. 

Mirage slipped a finger through the loop on the front of Hound’s collar and pulled him down for a passionate kiss steamy enough to kick Hound’s internal temperature up a couple of degrees. Pulling back, Mirage smiled mischievously at Hound’s involuntary groan of disappointment as he gripped Mirage’s upper arms tightly to prevent the other mech from pulling away. “I see Ratchet has plans for both of us,” Mirage said, tapping Hound’s collar lightly to make his point. 

Hound hummed and twisted, pinning Mirage up against the wall. As Hound gently ran his lips down Mirage’s neck — avoiding the visible bite mark — he transmitted over the high-level plans Ratchet had worked up for the next couple of days. A few things would have to be adjusted — Ratchet hadn’t expected Mirage to have any of his seals still on — but all of those adjustments were well within the parameters of Mirage’s broader contract. While Mirage was distracted with the paperwork, Hound dropped to his knees at Mirage’s feet, trailing his hands down Mirage’s sides.

Startled, Mirage’s hands grabbed at Hound’s head as the sturdy mech leaned over and, with firm, short strokes, steadily licked Mirage’s plating clean of the translucent blue lubricant. 

Mirage threw his head back with a gasp as Hound’s tongue hit a sensitive spot on his inner thigh. 

Hound caught Mirage by the hips as the lust-addled mech’s legs gave out and repositioned Mirage so that one leg was thrown over his shoulder, holding Mirage firmly in place while giving Hound more room to reach every nook and cranny. 

After being so thoroughly fucked by his Master and at his command, Mirage could have sworn that it was impossible for him to ever come again. However, Mirage still squirmed as the tactile pleasure of Hound’s tongue on his plating caused his charge to slowly build. 

Hound’s clever fingers dug deep into the gaps around Mirage’s hips. Both to hold the enraptured mech still, and to provide extra stimulation. Hound avoided Mirage’s alluring valve, instead focusing on the plating between Mirage’s pelvis and knees, cleaning every inch he could reach. 

While following the orders of his master, Mirage’s patience was legendary. But he wasn’t currently under orders, and Hound could tell that Mirage’s patience was running thin. When Mirage’s hands left Hound’s head and started to move towards his valve, Hound struck. In one smooth move he captured one of Mirage’s hands, standing up and spinning Mirage to face the wall. Mirage brought up his free hand in an effort to push himself back from the wall, but Hound used Mirage’s momentary disorientation to capture that hand as well. With Mirage pressed face first against the wall, Hound clipped together the wrist cuffs that Mirage was still wearing. 

As soon as Mirage felt the resistance against his cuffed wrists, he surrendered in well-trained obedience. His body relaxed into Hound’s hold, letting all the tension out of his frame. It was a response conditioned into him after extensive experience with his master, his dominants, and even his fellow submissives. 

The clip that Hound had used was simple. Even for a mech who didn’t have SpecOps training it wouldn’t have been much of a challenge to escape. But that was not the point. As long as the bondage had been put in place by a mech who had permission from Mirage’s master to do so (which Hound did) and Mirage didn’t have a reason to break the scene (such as his safeword being ignored, or an unsafe situation) Mirage had been conditioned to treat all bondage as absolute. 

Mirage rested his heated forehead against the cool metal of the wall. “Please,” he said softly. 

Hound rested one broad hand on the nape of Mirage’s neck and leaned forward, pinning the bound mech securely between his warm frame and the wall. “Please what?” he said, following the question with a teasing lick across Mirage’s shoulder.

Mirage squirmed lightly, enjoying the pressure of Hound’s frame against his own. “Please lick me,” he pleaded. 

Hound teasingly licked at the side of Mirage’s head. Mirage could practically feel the sly smile in Hound’s voice as he replied. “I already licked you.” 

The hand that was not holding Mirage’s head came around the front of his neck and clipped a leash to Mirage’s collar. Mirage caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his visual field. It was one of Hound’s leashes, simple and utilitarian as the mech who held the other end of it. 

“My valve,” Mirage pleaded. “Please lick my valve.”

Hound nuzzled the side of Mirage’s neck, nipping at sensitive cables until Mirage whimpered at the stimulation. “Not unless you’re a good, obedient little slut. You are my obedient little slut aren’t you?” Hound asked, his voice a low rumble. 

Mirage shook. He wanted to be Hound’s little slut, but... “Ratchet...” Mirage whimpered out the dominant’s name. Ratchet was supposed to be in charge. He was Ratchet’s little slut. 

Hound understood Mirage’s hesitation. While Hound enjoyed playing games of dominance and submission, they were just that, games. Mirage was the closest SpecOps had to a pure lifestyle submissive. Submission wasn’t a game for Mirage, it was how he lived. And currently Ratchet was Mirage’s dominant. 

Hound ran one hand soothingly down Mirage’s side. “Ratchet is still working. He has ordered that, until he is done, you are mine to do with as I please, within the limits he has set,” Hound explained, gently capturing Mirage’s chin and turning his face so that Hound could pull him into another blistering kiss. 

Mirage responded eagerly as Hound kissed him into submission, and he moaned as Hound reluctantly broke off the kiss and stepped back. A light tug on the leash was an unspoken command that caused Mirage to turn around and take his place at Hound’s heel. Mirage did not bother to close his interface panel, and new streaks of lubricant decorated his inner thighs from his freshly awakened interest. 

Hound led Mirage through the halls of the SpecOps base. The base within a base had been set aside by Jazz soon after the main Autobot base had been created in Iacon. Access was limited to SpecOps agents and a hand selected group of support personnel. 

SpecOps agents were always amused when they heard the rumors about them that made their way through the main body of the army. Most rumors focused on SpecOps’ reputation for brutality and shady dealings. Very few mechs suspected that SpecOps were actually fucking each other’s brains out, and SpecOps preferred it that way. There was a reason why they referred to their base within a base as ‘The Harem.’ It made SpecOps a tightly knit community that worked well together, as any interpersonal issues were quickly identified and swiftly ironed out.

Mirage did not worry about anybody seeing him parade down the hallway half naked. Most of the mechs Mirage would pass in the hall would probably wish they were in his place. He hoped Hound would let one play with his eager slut.

On the way Hound led Mirage past the public stocks, which were unfortunately empty. Mirage shivered with the pleasant memories of past sessions spent locked inside, at the mercy of any passing mech, as well as the many times he had taken advantage of other submissives when they had been locked inside.

Hound headed towards the SpecOps medbay and Ratchet’s adjoining quarters. Ratchet had official quarters outside of the SpecOps area, as did Optimus Prime and Prowl. Like Ratchet, Optimus Prime and Prowl also had a secondary office and living quarters set aside for them in the SpecOps base. Officially the second office was used when reviewing high-security plans and intelligence, which it many times was. However, it was also used when they wanted to conduct a session with one (or more) of the SpecOps submissives. (Ratchet liked that because the fucking was a very good was to reduce their stress levels.)

Hound reached the doors to Ratchet’s quarters, triggering them to open, and stepped into the main room. Like most SpecOps rooms it was larger than usual, built to accommodate bondage equipment and trussed up submissives as needed. Ratchet’s main room, however, was currently set up as a normal sitting room. 

Mirage knew that the appearance was only surface deep. All of the furniture had hidden tie down points that would allow a dominant to restrain a submissive in almost any position they could think of. Jazz had recruited a furniture designer specifically for that purpose, and the mech was never short on new commissions, though he’d had to get creative as supplies started getting tight. 

Mirage reined in his wandering mind as Hound had him stand in the center of the room next to the low table in front of the couch. There were several items already lined up on the table, and Mirage squirmed lightly as he felt his simmering arousal heating up again. 

Hound turned to face Mirage and placed one hand on Mirage’s cheek to make sure he had Mirage’s attention. “You understand what is expected of you?” Hound asked Mirage seriously. This was going to be his last chance to ask questions or make changes before things really got started, unless he used his safeword during play. 

Mirage nodded. “Yes,” he said softly, turning his head to kiss Hound’s palm. It was not the first time he had played with Ratchet and Hound, and it was not the first time that he had been involved in this type of a scene. He had a very good idea what to expect, and was comfortable with both mechs. 

“Then you know that after this point you will not be allowed to speak. If you have anything you need to let Ratchet know, tell me now,” Hound warned Mirage. 

Mirage pulled the box Jazz had given him out of his subspace and handed it to Hound. “Jazz ordered me to give this to Ratchet. I’m not to look at the contents,” he conveyed. 

Hound nodded. “I’ll let him know.” He sent Ratchet a quick note, but the mech was sending his comms into a queue. He’d leave a note on the box so that Ratchet saw it when he got back. 

Hound placed the box on the table next to them, and picked up a vocal inhibitor. He looped the end of the leash around his wrist so that he could work on Mirage’s neck unhindered. Mirage obediently raised his head so that Hound could install the inhibitor. There was already a vocal inhibitor built into Mirage’s collar that could be turned on or off as needed. However, it rendered Mirage completely silent. The vocal inhibitor that Hound was installing on Mirage was a custom version that would only allow the wearer to make wordless noises such as grunts, howls, or other ‘bestial’ sounds. 

Hound pulled his hands back from Mirage’s neck. “Go ahead and try that.” 

Mirage was unable to produce a coherent word, only a plaintive mewling cry. 

Hound stroked the back of Mirage’s head. “Ready?” he asked, looking into Mirage’s eyes.

Mirage nodded. 

“Present,” Hound ordered, stepping back. He didn’t have the intrinsic authority that Mirage’s master had, but that wasn’t important. Hound wasn’t his master. But he had been placed in authority over Mirage. 

Gracefully the blue and white mech sank to his knees, his head held high and gaze lowered. His hands rested lightly on his thighs with his knees spread so that his exposed interface hardware, and the chastity seal holding back his spike, were clearly visible. 

Hound circled Mirage slowly, admiring the beautiful body exhibited in perfect submission. Mirage did not flinch, even when the leash Hound still held slipped over his head. Mirage used the time to collect himself and draw on the persona that he’d need for this scene.

Standing in front of Mirage once again Hound asked, “Are you ready to be a good boy, Dino?” 

Unable to speak, Mirage gave a shallow nod.

Hound gave the leash a stern warning tug, pulling Mirage’s head forward sharply.

Chastised, Mirage threw himself into character. 

Dino whimpered softly. Rising to all four feet, the turbohound hesitantly rubbed his face up against the mech’s thigh, looking up at Hound with a contrite look in his eyes. 

Hound reached down and gave Dino a rough stroke down his back. “You’ll be such a sweet little present for Ratchet, Dino,” he said, repeating the name of Mirage’s new persona to help Mirage slip further into character. 

With a yelp, Dino sensually rubbed his body up against Hound’s legs.

“You’re all dirty, though,” Hound said in a cheerfully eager voice. “Let’s get you a bath.” 

At the word ‘bath’ an excited Dino quickly scrambled across the room towards the washracks. Dino loved baths. He loved the attention and he loved having a mech’s hands all over him. 

Laughing, Hound held onto the leash tightly as Dino practically dragged him across the room. 

Once in the washracks, Hound attached Dino’s leash to the column in the middle of the room. It had attachment points at various heights designed to restrain mechs in many different positions. 

Dino tried to follow Hound as the mech walked over to retrieve the cleaning supplies, but was brought up short by his leash. He waited patiently for Hound to return.

Dino was not concerned about what Hound was doing because he was a mechanimal, a well-trained pedigree turbohound. Mechanimals did not need worry about the same things that mechs did. 

Dino yelped as he got caught by a sudden blast of water to the side of his face. 

Hound fumbled the nozzle as Dino quickly shied backwards, squirming against the leash. “Sorry, Dino. Easy boy, easy.” Hound tried to sooth the overexcited turbohound, but Dino wasn’t in the mood to be placated that easily. Hound ended up pinning Dino between his legs and scritching Dino’s helm vents to settle him down.

Once Dino was calm again, Hound used the handheld sprayer to rinse Dino off, being careful not to spray the turbohound in the face again. He then lathered up a chamois and got down on his knees so he could rub down Dino’s plating. Hound scrubbed away the dirt and gunk left over; including lubricant, spots of energon, and condensation marks. He carefully traced over the bite mark still visible on Dino’s neck, rinsing it carefully as the turbohound shifted uncomfortably. Hound even picked up each of the turbohound’s legs in order to wash every seam. 

Hound left Dino’s interface equipment for last. The plump folds and winking biolights of Dino’s valve were covered in a thin film of lubricant. As Hound gently ran the chamois over Dino’s opening the turbohound tried to grind backwards into his hand, whining at the light stimulation. Hound kept his touch light and took note that the turbohound appeared to be in heat. It was an excellent sign. Ratchet would be delighted.

Since everything was obviously working correctly, and he didn’t want to end things too quickly, Hound didn’t linger. He rinsed off the cleanser with a light spray of water, careful not to get any inside of Dino’s valve. 

Dino whimpered in disappointment. 

“Shhhhh, Dino,” Hound reassured the fidgety turbohound as Dino pressed up against him. “We’ll be done soon. Just need to dry you off and take you into the berthroom so I can introduce you to Sarge.”

Dino thoroughly enjoyed the rubdown Hound gave him with a soft, absorbent cloth. Like before, Hound gave Dino’s valve only cursory attention. Dino wasn’t supposed to get his overload yet. 

Once Dino was completely dry, Hound unhooked Dino’s leash and led him into the berthroom. At the foot of the berth, on the floor, was a large nest of blankets. Hound led Dino over to the nest. 

Dino balked at the edge of the nest. Dino was hesitant as Hound carefully coaxed him into the nest. After a few absurdly high steps to avoid touching as much of the blankets as he could, Dino realized that they were not a bad thing and dove in. As Dino exuberantly burrowed into the blankets, Hound attached Dino’s lead to the wall and gave the turbohound a last pat goodbye. 

“Now, be a good boy for Sarge, okay?” 

Dino yelped happily and nuzzled Hound’s face. The mech laughed lightheartedly as Dino rubbed up against him, trying to knock Hound over so Dino could crawl onto his lap. Gently, Hound pushed the elegant turbohound off of him. He gave Dino one last scritch to his head, then stood up and left the room. 

Dino sat and stared inconsolably after Hound for a few minutes before turning back to the nest. The turbohound heard a few sounds outside the room, but ignored them as unimportant. He scratched around in the blankets for a little while before flopping down on his side and burrowing sideways, pushing the blankets into a mound that threatened to topple over on top of him. Content, Dino drifted into a low power state. 

A few minutes later, Dino was startled awake by a sniffing sound at the entrance to the bedroom. He looked up, shaking the blankets off of his head. 

There was a strange mechanimal in the doorway and it was looking at Dino. 

Dino whuffed uncertainly, rising to all four feet as the strange mechanimal strode into the room with the confidence of a predator entering his den, which it was. 

The other mechanimal was a turbowolf. 

(Dino, being a turbohound, did not understand that tubowolves were the wild ancestors of the domesticated turbohound, like him. What he did understand was that the new mechanimal was dangerous.) 

The turbowolf halted as it caught sight of the purebred turbohound. 

Sarge was disturbed. There was somebody in _his_ nest. His growl rumbled low in his chest, warning the other mechanimal that this was _his_ territory. 

Dino tried to retreat from the approaching turbowolf, but the leash limited him to the nest at the foot of the berth. He couldn’t even leap up on the berth to try to escape the other mechanimal. Dino whimpered and lowered his head submissively as the predator stalked ever closer, still growling. 

Sage approached the smaller intruder aggressively, noticing other mechanimal’s submissive body language as it surrendered to him as the dominant mechanimal. He physically forced the other mechanimal against the wall and proceeded to examine the scared creature. 

Dino froze, trembling, his chest submissively pressed to the floor, presenting his exposed valve as the turbowolf inspected him.

Sarge’s nose caught the most delectable scent. Inhaling, he traced the delicate perfume to the rear of the mechanimal. There, Sarge could see lubricant beading the swollen lips of the turbohound’s sweet little valve. Sarge grunted deep in his chest. He was in luck! The little turbohound was in heat. Sarge’s growl turned possessive as he rubbed up against the bitch. The blue and white turbohound as _his_. 

Dino didn’t know what was going on, he just knew that whatever the turbowolf was doing was making him wetter. He whined uncertainly. 

Sarge circled the smaller turbohound, slowly forcing Dino into the center of the nest. One strong paw on the turbohound’s head kept it submissively lowered. 

Sarge rubbed himself up against his new playmate’s body eagerly, but with a slowly growing frustration. No matter how much his systems heated up, his panel would not open and expose his spike. (Sarge was not aware that Ratchet had locked Hound’s interface paneling shut earlier in the day. He would not be allowed to overload until Ratchet was there to share in the fun. Until then, Sarge would just need to deal with his lust in other ways.)

Sarge nosed his subdued captive’s valve lips, bathing his nose in the rich scent of his new bitch. It smelled so good. Sarge licked a strip down the center of Dino’s valve. 

Dino moaned, but remained obediently submissive under the turbowolf’s heated attentions. 

Sarge very much enjoyed what he’d tasted, so, unable to spike the bitch, he dove in with an eager tongue instead. 

The turbowolf vigorously licked at Dino’s plump lips as the turbohound squirmed and mewled. Sarge relentlessly stimulated Dino’s outer nodes again and again until Dino’s voice was an undulating howl of pleasure. Sarge slurped up the fresh lubricant that flowed over Dino’s valve lips and plunged his tongue into Dino’s valve in order to taste more.

Dino yelped as Sarge’s tongue speared him ferociously, rocking helplessly backwards against the turbowolf’s invading tongue. He was helpless in his passion, and he wanted more. Besides, even if Dino wanted to run, his master’s leash kept him tied firmly in place. 

All the tension in his frame suddenly disappeared and Dino went limp as he collapsed into a crackling overload. The static of Dino’s overload tingled on Sarge’s tongue. Mercilessly, the large turbowolf continued licking at the shaking Dino’s oversensitive valve until there was no more lubricant left on his thighs or valve lips. 

Satisfied that his bitch couldn’t even think about running away now, Sarge nudged Dino until the exhausted turbohound curled up. Sarge pawed at the blankets, nearly burying the smaller turbohound before curling up with his chest against Dino’s back. He would protect his bitch from any mechanimal that might approach, as well as keep the turbohound trapped so that he could fuck it again. Later. 

Dino was exhausted by the long day. His last excruciating overload left him bonelessly limp and wiped out. He slipped into recharge comforted by the warmth of the large turbowolf at his back. 

Sarge posessively watched over his new bitch until he too fell into recharge. 

Neither noticed when Ratchet came to bed.

***

“Time for breakfast pups!” Ratchet’s abnormally cheerful voice woke Mirage up the next morning. 

Disoriented, Mirage buried his head in the blankets while he reorientated himself. The first thing he noticed was Hound’s warm body and sleepy field wrapped around him. Mirage carefully stretched and shook his head. He could feel the subtle weight of his collar around his neck and the pleasant soreness of his well-used valve. 

Mirage attempted to snark back at Ratchet, but his words were turned into a high-pitched whine of complaint instead, which was the last clue needed for his fuck- and sleep-addled brain to remember what his role was. 

Mirage groaned and curled deeper under the covers, giving himself a few more seconds to get back into character. 

A quick set of pings were traded between the three mechs in the room. Mirage also noticed that Ratchet pulled his diagnostic report at the same time. Worrywart, Mirage thought fondly. 

Sarge shook himself and stood up. He let out a formidable rumbling growl as Ratchet approached his nest and his new mate. 

Ratchet ignored the warning and cheerfully rattled the bucket of energon cubes he was holding. “Breakfast!”

That got Sarge’s attention. The turbowolf eagerly loped towards the main room where his feeding bowl was. 

Dino remained stubbornly curled up in the nest of blankets. He was comfortable where he was. 

“C’mon Dino,” Ratchet said coaxingly. When that showed no signs of working, he took hold of one of the blankets and gave it a sharp tug. “Do you want Sarge to get your food?” he threatened mildly.

Dino’s tanks reminded him that he was hungry and he whined pitifully. 

Ratchet laughed. “You need to get up to get food,” he said cheerfully. He stood up and unhooked Dino’s leash from the wall. He didn’t want his new pedigree turbohound to run off because Dino startled. 

“C’mon Dino,” Ratchet called again, coaxing the reluctant turbohound along with a light tug to his leash. 

Dino uncurled with a lazy stretch before rising to his feet and following his new master. 

In the main room, Sarge was dancing impatiently on all four feet as he stood next to his food dish. It was _empty_ and he was _hungry_.

“Sit,” Ratchet ordered Sarge sternly, which the turbowolf did reluctantly. Sarge knew that his bowl wouldn't be filled until he obeyed.

As Sarge waited for his master to fill his bowl, he leered at the leashed turbohound out of the corner of his eye. The smaller mechanimal was pretty and, after a night in Sarge’s nest, he smelled like Sarge. Which was good because he was Sarge’s now. Sarge licked his chops lavisciously at the thought of mating with Dino. 

Ratchet filled Sarge’s bowl with energon cubes — a small, solidified, high-energy version of liquid energon. He then filled a second bowl for Dino and placed it a length away from Sarge’s bowl. “Go on, Sarge,” Ratchet released Sarge from his sit. 

Sarge dove into his bowl, voraciously eating the cubes as quickly as he could get his mouth around them. 

Ratchet tied Dino’s leash to a loop discreetly embedded in the wall above Dino’s bowl. He watched as the elegant turbohound thoroughly sniffed his bowl before daintily eating his energon cubes one by one. 

Ratchet watched his two pups eat for a few minutes, just to make sure that Sarge wasn’t going to try to start anything with the restrained Dino. 

When Ratchet was satisfied that he could leave the two alone for a few minutes, he opened the doorway connecting the medbay to his quarters. He needed to make a few last preparations before they relocated for the rest of the scene. Ratchet left the door open so that he could hear Dino and Sarge, in case anything happened. 

It was the sound of Dino’s quiet whining that drew Ratchet’s attention. He was not happy with what he found. 

Sarge, being the glutton he was, had finished eating long before the dantier Dino. 

Unfortunately, Sarge was still hungry. 

Fortunately for Dino breakfast, however, it wasn’t Dino’s energon cubes the turbowolf was after. 

Ratchet walked in to find Sarge crouched behind Dino, nose-first in Dino’s exposed valve. 

Dino had submissively lowered his head to the ground next to his still half-full bowl while Sarge eagerly lapped at Dino’s rapidly-lubricating valve.

That wouldn’t do, Ratchet thought. “Sarge!” he barked sternly.

Sarge looked up at Ratchet with an unrepentant grin and a liberal coating of Dino’s lubricant around his nose and mouth. He pointedly licked his chops, satisfied at having gotten another taste of his sumptuous little morsel of a mate.

Ratchet scowled, reached down, and took Sarge’s sturdy collar in strong grip. Using his superior strength and leverage, Ratchet hauled the turbowolf back and away from the delectable turbohound. Ratchet pulled out a leash from his subspace and clipped it to Sarge’s collar. 

When the leash came out, Sarge promptly forgot Dino and started shifting eagerly. Ratchet usually took Sarge on a post-meal walk, and Sarge enjoyed those walks very much.

Dino, however, was confused. He had been enjoying Sarge’s attentions and wanted more. Despite how pushy and rude the turbowolf could be, he had a magnificent tongue. 

To Sarge’s disappointment, Ratchet didn’t lead Sarge into the hallway like usual, but through the open doorway into the medbay. 

Sarge balked as soon as he saw the cage Ratchet was leading him towards. 

Ratchet was ready, however, and quickly hauled the reluctant turbowolf through the door of the cage, shutting it with a clang. He tied Sarge’s leash to the bars of the cage so it would be handy for later. 

Sarge threw his body against the bars, but the cage stood solid. Sulking, Sarge petulantly curled up and stared out watchfully. 

Once Sarge was taken care of Ratchet was able to go back and check on Dino. 

Ratchet was happy to see that the turbohound was finishing off the last of his food. He had been worried that Dino might have been put off his feed by Sarge’s rude distraction. Dino would need his strength for today’s breeding, and a stressed out stud was less likely to perform successfully.

Ratchet knelt down and gave the beautiful mechanimal a few soothing strokes down his back. “Good boy,” Ratchet praised Dino. 

Dino rumbled contentedly as he finished his last few energon cubes. 

Once Dino finished Ratchet untied him from the wall. With a light tug Dino obediently followed Ratchet into the medbay. 

Ratchet walked over to a medberth and stopped, tapping the top to encourage Dino to jump up. Once the turbohound was on the berth, Ratchet fastened Dino’s leash tightly to a sturdy arm that rose from one end of the berth. It left Dino with very little slack to move around. 

“Need to get you ready for your exam,” Ratchet explained cheerfully as he picked up a spreader bar with cuffs off the countertop nearby. 

Dino shifted nervously as Ratchet fastened the cuffs. However the medic had a lot of practice dealing with uncooperative patients, and was able to swiftly get the spreader bar in place just above Dino’s knees, holding his legs wide apart. Between the short leash and the spreader bar the poor turbohound could barely move. Dino’s uncovered valve and sealed spike were left exposed for Ratchet’s inspection before the breeding. 

Dino yelped at the first touch of Ratchet’s warm, lubricated fingers on his well-used valve lips. He was sore, but Dino could tell it was the soreness that came from vigorous use, not the sharp pain of damage. 

Ratchet already knew that Mirage’s valve was fine, he’d run his medical scans while Mirage had still been asleep. But that wasn’t the point. This inspection was partially for health reasons, and partially erotic theatre for Sarge, whose cage gave him a front-row seat to the carnal performance. 

“Steady now, Dino. I need to make sure you didn’t strain anything,” Ratchet reassured the turbohound as he slipped one finger into his moist valve. “It wouldn’t do to have my new breeder out of commission so soon.” Ratchet rode the motion as Dino attempted to fuck himself backwards on Ratchet’s finger, denying the turbohound the extra stimulation.

Ratchet returned to his inspection, bending over so he had a clear view of Dino’s valve. “Valve lips are plump and firm, no signs of discoloration. A few dull spots, but that’s just due to heavy usage and will clear up quickly with energon and rest.” Ratchet verbalized his notes as he went along. He kept his face carefully turned away from Sarge as he grinned. Ratchet could hear the turbowolf groan as Sarge shifted in his cage, which had a perfectly clear view of Dino’s valve as Ratchet manipulated the plump folds. 

Ratchet firmly pinched Dino’s exterior node between his fingers, making Dino yelp. Dino whined and squirmed increasingly vigorously as Ratchet proceeded to hold the node firmly for a count of five before releasing it. “No loss of sensation in the outer node,” Ratchet reported with relish. “Will need to confirm ceiling node also works.” Ratchet gave his hand another layer of lubrication. “Now, to test the interior mesh.” Ratchet inserted two fingers this time, gently scissoring them, stretching the mesh of Dino’s valve as he went. 

Dino was panting as Ratchet pinged Mirage’s interface system and confirmed that the mech had reset his valve size parameters to Ratchet’s requested specifications. He was planning on fisting Mirage’s valve, and if he tried that with Mirage’s normal size setting Ratchet ran a serious risk of tearing something. There was nothing that would end Ratchet’s pleasure quicker than having his emergency medical protocols kick in. 

Ratchet carefully felt along the inside of Dino’s valve, his medical training and experience helping him map out each and every sensor. As he hit each one Ratchet tracked the promptness and intensity of Dino’s response as the turbohound writhed under his hands. 

The process did have a legitimate purpose beyond riling his pet mechanimal up. Even though the medical scans came back clear, that only meant that there was no hardware damage. There still could be lags in processing causing decreased sensation or delayed sensation that would be caught by a manual inspection.

Mirage’s devotion towards chastity, however, combined with Ratchet’s perfectionism and the fact that Ratchet _would_ notify Mirage’s master if he missed any of his appointments, meant that Mirage’s valve and spike were kept in pristine condition. After all, the members of the Harem knew that highly-responsive valves and spikes made for highly-responsive, happy mechs, be they submissive, dominant, or somewhere in between.

Ratchet could do the exam quicker by scanning Mirage’s software, but Ratchet loved the feeling of a tight valve gloving his fist as he made a submissive writhe. Ratchet also loved the excuse to perform regular valve examinations on the members of the Harem. 

As Ratchet finished inspecting the first third of Dino’s valve, he slipped a third finger in. Dino squirmed at the additional stretch as his valve lips distended around Ratchet’s knuckles and the red and white mech hit a new row of sensor nodes. 

“Look at that,” Ratchet said teasingly as he wiggled his fingers. “I can’t quite reach the rest... unless.” Ratchet dribbled some more lubricant on his hand. Not that he needed it, considering the volume of lubrication that Dino was currently producing. It dripped thickly from Dino’s exited pussy. It was better to have too much, though. And it created time for Dino’s anticipation to build.

Ratchet pulled back slightly so he could get his fourth finger into place, folded his thumb across his palm and slowly slid his hand smoothly into Dino’s accommodating valve. 

Dino groaned as Ratchet’s unyielding hand mercilessly stretched his valve lips until they felt like they would tear. With a nearly audible _pop_ and a sharp yelp of surprised relief from Dino, Ratchet’s hand was finally, completely in. The overwrought turbohound released a long, wailing cry as Ratchet’s fingers unerringly found the ceiling node at the top of Dino’s valve. The pained pleasure of having the deeply hidden node so roughly stimulated threw Dino into an overload. He convulsed against his bindings, shaking on the table. 

Distantly, Ratchet could hear Sarge’s howls as the turbowolf threw himself against the bars of the cage, desperate to get at his bitch and breed that pussy. It was his!

Dino shook as his overload continued to roll through him. He was unable to move. His head was held high by the short leash and his ass was held up by Ratchet’s hand in his valve. 

Ratchet twisted his hand inside Dino’s clenching valve, drawing out more aftershocks. With his free hand, Ratchet stroked Dino’s back soothingly. 

Ratchet completed the rest of his examination of Dino’s valve carefully, but thoroughly. The mechanimal didn’t overload again, but by the time Ratchet was done and popped his hand back out of Dino’s valve the poor turbohound was very aroused. 

Ratchet wiped his hands off on a convenient towel. He then ran his hands down Dino’s back and legs reassuringly, feeling the lingering tremors in Dino’s frame. “One last thing,” Ratchet said, moving his hand between Dino’s legs. 

The turbohound whined, confused as Ratchet’s fingers moved over his spike seal. 

Dino fidgeted as Ratchet teased at the seal, gradually loosening it. The adhesive used for Mirage’s seals was strong enough to hold back Mirage’s spike if it attempted to extend and designed not to fall off during extended use. That meant the seal was not easy to remove. Dino whimpered at the pricking scratch of Ratchet’s finger tips on newly uncovered sensors. He couldn’t interpret whether the sensation was pleasant or unpleasant. 

As the seal was finally removed, however, Dino’s penetrative equipment came back online. And the charge from Dino’s aroused valve meant that his spike came online with a vengeance. 

In the time that it took Ratchet to turn around and put the used seal away, Dino’s spike had fully pressurized and lubricant had started to bead at the tip. Ratchet ignored Dino’s predicament despite Dino’s increasingly desperate whimpers. Instead, he removed the spreader bar from between Dino’s legs, untied the turbohound’s leash, and lifted the distraught mechanimal down off the berth.

Sarge slammed himself against the bars and howled as his fresh little morsel of a mate was paraded past him and tied to a ring just out of reach. The smell of fresh lubricant drove Sarge crazy with unfulfilled lust, and he couldn’t even extend his own spike!

Ratchet cleared the medberth of everything he had used on Dino and wiped away the generous puddle of lubrication left behind. 

Ratchet then proceeded to prepare the medberth for Sarge’s breeding. 

First, Ratchet placed a strong triangular frame on the berth and bolted it down firmly. The bar running along the top of the frame was generously padded, and sturdy restraints were attached at the four corners of the frame, open and ready for the bitch. It was a breeding frame, used so that a bitch couldn’t hurt themselves or the stud during a breeding. The last thing Ratchet needed was the bitch slipping free in the middle of the breeding session. 

With his preparations done, Ratchet approached Sarge’s cage. Ratchet was ready for the turbowolf’s charge as he opened the gate. Ratchet wrestled the frenzied turbowolf, driven semi-feral in his drive to mate, onto the berth. With one strong hand Ratchet held the writhing Sarge in place as he fastened a sturdy strap around the turbowolf’s middle, pinning him to the padded bar. Sarge froze in surprise and Ratchet quickly took advantage, fastening Sarge’s forelegs and hindlegs firmly to the four corners of the frame. 

Sarge howled one last time as he violently tested his bonds, then stilled. 

Ratchet wasn’t foolish enough to think that Sarge had surrendered, however. The turbowolf’s stillness was the stillness of a predator looking for a weakness to exploit. 

Ratchet wasn’t anybody’s prey though.

With Sarge thoroughly restrained, Ratchet turned back to Dino. The domesticated mechanimal was shifting nervously, but well-trained enough not to try to get loose. Ratchet unfastened Dino’s leash and softly urged the trembling turbohound into the cage that Sarge had just been in. Ratchet had a significant amount of preparation to perform with Sarge, and he wouldn’t be able to supervise the turbohound. 

Dino entered the cage easily and turned around to face Rachet, whining softly, his spike still straining and valve dripping. 

Ratchet knelt and caressed the vents on the side of Dino’s head. “Shhh... Shhhh... Just a little longer,” he reassured Dino, attempting to calm the mechanimal. 

However, Dino was too wound up to be gentled so easily. Dino eagerly nuzzled Ratchet’s hands, preventing him from closing the door. Ratchet had to gently push the turbohound back into the cage in order to close the door. Dejected, Dino crouched down, looking up at Ratchet with wide, pleading eyes, hoping to appeal to the dominant mech’s softer side. 

As he crouched, though, Dino discovered something great. The position allowed the tip of his spike to rub against the padded floor of the crate! Happily, Dino ignored Ratchet and instead started humping the floor enthusiastically. 

Ratchet had a new problem. He needed to restrain the overeager mechanimal because he didn’t want Dino reaching overload too early and be unable to cover Sarge later. This would require some additional restraints. 

Ratchet slid open a small hatch in the door to the cage. Taking a firm grip on Dino’s leash, he used it to steadily pull the turbohound’s head through the opening. Using a couple of large clips, Ratchet fastened Dino’s collar to the bars of the cage on either side of his neck. This prevented Dino from pulling his head back into the cage and held the turbohound in place as Ratchet carefully inserted a horizontal crossbar between Dino’s belly and the floor. The crossbar was attached to the vertical support bars on either side of the cage.

Dino whimpered uncertainly as Ratchet raised the crossbar, lifting Dino’s torso high enough that the horny mechanimal couldn’t rub himself on the floor. Dino squirmed as his rampant spike dangled in midair, but he was unable to find relief. 

As an additional precaution, Ratchet also clipped Dino’s forearm cuffs to the bars on either side of his head. That way Dino wouldn’t be tempted to forget himself and take his spike in hand. Ratchet ignored Dino’s plaintive whining and turbopuppy eyes as he turned around to deal with Sarge.

Sarge growled menacingly as Ratchet walked toward the berth. Ratchet ignored him, however. He knew that, before long, the growly turbowolf would be turned into a whimpering turbopuppy. 

Sarge went quiet, trembling in anticipation as Ratchet reached between the turbowolf’s legs and manually unfastened the locks holding Sarge’s interface paneling shut. His spike, thoroughly restrained since the day before, surged forward, extending rapidly to its full extent. The knot at the base of the turbowolf’s spike was currently deflated, but in the warm valve of a convenient bitch it would expand to a fearful width, sealing the lovers together until the bitch was thoroughly bred. Sarge growled and threw himself against the padded crossbar as he was reminded how much he wanted to fuck the whimpering turbohound in the cage.

Sarge wouldn’t get that opportunity, however. 

Ratchet ignored Sarge’s spike and instead turned his attention to Sarge’s valve. Yesterday he had plugged Hound’s valve before he’d locked away the submissive’s interface equipment. When Ratchet had inserted the plug it had been half of its current size. Hound had worn the plug, locked behind his paneling, as it slowly grew to its current formidable girth. It had kept the submissive’s mind focused on their need to fuck and be fucked.

Now, however, it needed to come out. 

Ratchet gently slipped his fingers between Sarge’s dramatically stretched valve lips and the base of the plug nestled deep inside the turbowolf’s lush valve. 

Ratchet would remove it... but without deflating it first. 

Sarge grunted as Ratchet took a firm grip of the plug and gave it a steady pull, moving it ever so slightly.

Ratchet gently worked the plug back and forth, gradually stretching Sarge’s valve lips wider and wider. As Sarge’s cunt gradually loosened its hold, Ratchet gave one last smooth but relentless pull. The large plug moved haltingly as suction fought to hold it in Sarge’s stretched valve. 

Sarge’s grunts turned into a long, drawn out wailing moan as the plug, which was now the diameter of Ratchet’s closed fist and as long as Optimus Prime’s spike at full extension, slid out with an obscene pop and a small flood of lubricant. 

Sarge wail died into hitching sobs as Ratchet lubed up his hand and, without prep, eased it deep into the turbowolf’s loose valve without visible effort. Satisfied with the results, Ratchet pulled his hand out. 

Turning around, Ratchet picked up a large device that he had prepared earlier this morning while his puppies had still been sleeping. It looked like a spike, but not a mech’s spike. It was as long and as thick as the plug Ratchet had just pulled out of Sarge. The head was unusually flared and there were thick ridges evenly spaced out down the shaft of the spike that would test even Sarge’s well-prepared valve. Ratchet magnetized the base of spike securely to his own pelvis over his closed interface panel.

Ratchet lowered the berth until it was just above floor height (falling off the table in the middle of a scene was not how he wanted to end his day) and knelt down on the berth behind Sarge. “Shuu, shuu,” he said, rubbing the distraught mechanimal’s back comfortingly. The false spike bobbed obscenely between Sarge’s thighs.

Sarge’s sobs slowly died down into hiccuping sniffles. He was so empty he ached, but he still wanted to spike his bitch...

“There, there,” Ratchet said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the lewd anticipation out of his voice. “It’s time for a breeding and you’re the bitch.” 

Sarge felt the massive tip of the unnatural spike touch the lips of his valve and he started sobbing again. He wasn’t the bitch! The turbohound was supposed to be the bitch! He’d submitted to Sarge!

The set of pings that flew between Ratchet, Hound, and Mirage’s systems told a different story.

Ratchet discreetly unspooled his hardline cables while Sarge was distracted. One cable he used to connect his systems to the sensors in the false spike he was wearing. He used a second cable to plug into one of Sarge’s auxiliary connection ports. In addition to bringing up Sarge’s status dashboards on his HUD, Ratchet also synced his sensory system to Sarge’s. Ratchet was not going to miss this experience. 

Sarge thrashed against his restraints, trying to throw his master off of him like he would dislodge an unwanted suitor during breeding season, but the straps held him fast. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to be seeded by his master, and then he was going to be bred by the pretty little turbohound he’d wanted to fuck so bad. 

Sarge let out a scream as Ratchet pushed his hips forward firmly, forcing the flared head of the spike into Sarge’s well-lubricated valve. Ratchet had to pause for a moment as the secondary sensations from the hardline connection briefly overwhelmed him. (From Sarge’s status reports he knew that, despite Sarge’s carrying on, there was no actual damage.) Once Ratchet had gathered himself again he started rocking insistently against Sarge’s upraised ass, forcing the spike, millimeter by agonizing millimeter, into Sarge’s valve. 

Sarge’s screams died down into wailing sobs as the large spike slowly plundered his willing valve. 

Ratchet watched as, ring by raised ring, the spike slowly sunk into Sarge, stretching the mechanimal’s valve lips obscenely. Each ripple set off new sets of internal sensory nodes, crackling pleasure like small fireworks in the back of Ratchet’s mind. He enjoyed the second-hand sensations of Sarge’s valve parting before the flared head of the spike as it agonizingly moved closer and closer to the end goal: Sarge’s gestation tank. 

Gestation tanks were a form of body modification favored by the mechanimal community (a community of mechs that liked to take on the persona of technimals, whether during sex or not). While mechs did not use gestation tanks to procreate, technimals, such as turbowolves, did. In mechs though, they were just very, very kinky hardware.

The once-cocky turbowolf trembled as he sobbed quietly, the shock of the initial penetration having worn off. 

As the massive spike reached the end of Sarge’s valve it drew a surprised yip from the turbowolf. Ratchet didn’t stop. Sarge felt a slowly building pressure as Ratchet increased the power behind his thrusts. 

Sarge grunted as he was thrown forward against the breeding bench, his steel-hard spike bobbing between his thighs, ignored. Gradually, Sarge felt the opening of his gestation chamber giving way in the face of Ratchet’s relentless assault. 

Sarge yelped as the spike suddenly slipped through, forcing the entrance to dilate widely. 

Ratchet stopped moving as he felt the opening clamp back down. The spike was now locked into Sarge’s valve and it would not be coming out until the bitch was bred full up. 

Ratchet triggered the special feature of this modified spike.

Sarge shook his head, confused as the false spike started to pulse inside of him. At regular intervals the spike rippled in waves, growing and contracting. The ripples massaged the inside of his valve, tripping his sensor nodes and causing cascades of pleasure to spread out across his sensor net. He moaned in pleasure under the relentlessly pleasurable assault. 

“There we go,” Ratchet murmured in eager anticipation for what was going to happen next. 

It wasn’t until the first egg popped out of the end of the ovipositor that Sarge realized what was happening. He squealed. Even if he hadn’t been stopped by the straps holding him down, he would have been unable to escape the ovipositor locked into the entrance of his gestation chamber. Sarge was stuck. The chamber would not release the intruding spike until it was full of his master’s eggs. 

Sarge gave up struggling and collapsed limply onto the breeding frame in blissed-out surrender.The first egg sat heavily in his gestation tank, moving freely in the mostly empty space. With another ripple and pop, it was joined by a second egg. Sarge overloaded with a shivering wail.

After five eggs, Sarge was finally beginning to feel stuffed. Two more overloads had been wrung out of him by the relentless pulsing of the ovipositor. All Sarge could do was accept the pleasure. His master’s will was absolute. Sarge was now the bitch.

A pleasurably pacified Sarge greeted the arrival of his sixth egg with a contented groan, enjoying the stretch and the weight.

“Such a good boy,” Ratchet crooned in a shaky voice, leaning over Sarge’s back while the ovipositor pulsed between them. “Just one more to go.” Ratchet was just as drunk on the pleasure as Sarge currently was, but he also needed to keep his head clear enough to direct events instead of sinking into the blissful release. 

Sarge rubbed his face against the berth and greeted the arrival of the seventh egg with a disappointed groan as the massive ovipositor stopped pulsing. All of its eggs having been discharged, the body of the ovipositor was half the size that it had started out, and thus easily slipped out of Sarge as the gestation tank released its hold on the tip.

Ratchet just laughed as he stood up on shaky legs and removed the ovipositor from his plating, setting it aside for cleaning later. “We’re not done yet, pup. We need to fertilize those eggs of yours first.”

Sarge made a protesting sound, but didn’t move. He’d been fucked boneless.

Still chuckling at Sarge’s antics, Ratchet walked over to the cage containing Dino. 

The turbohound perked up at the sound of Ratchet’s footsteps. His spike dangled in midair, slowly drooling lubricant on the pad on the bottom of the cage despite the lack of manual stimulation. 

Ratchet reached between the bars and gripped Dino’s spike, giving it a couple of teasing strokes while poor Dino tried to hump his hand. Good, he thought, the stud was ready to perform. Ratchet moved to Dino’s head and unlatched the restraining clips holding his collar and cuffs before removing the bar holding Dino’s hips up. 

Dino whined frantically as Ratchet unlatched the door to the cage. Once he was free, Dino scrambled towards Sarge, only held back in his headlong charge by Ratchet’s firm grip on his leash.

Sarge didn’t seem to notice, though. His attention was held by the eggs gently rolling around in his gestation chamber as he slowly twitched. He was so full, it was glorious. The heat. The pressure. The rippling aftershocks of pleasure as the eggs bumped up against the inside of his chamber.

Meanwhile, Dino’s frantic whining didn’t slow down despite Ratchet’s firm hold on his leash. 

“Stay,” Ratchet said calmly and evenly, repeating himself several times before Dino finally stilled. Ratchet carefully knelt down next to Dino, wary of setting the frantic turbohound off again. 

Dino shied away as Ratchet gently ran his hand down the turbohound’s back, but quieted down under Ratchet’s calm reassuring field. 

Dino felt like he was burning. Charge raced through his circuits and across his plating, crackling so hard that it hurt. Meanwhile Dino had been left, helplessly aroused and alone, watching Sarge as he was fucked by his master. Dino hungered, but he was a good boy. He would wait, despite the charge that lit his lines on fire. 

Ratchet could see that Dino was ready. 

“Mount!” Ratchet commanded crisply, dropping the leash. 

Dino scrambled forward and reared up, hugging his forelegs around Sarge’s torso and draping himself over Sarge’s back and rear end. 

The fuck-drunk turbowolf stirred as Dino’s weight came to rest on him. Dino growled, snapping at the bitch’s neck, and Sarge stopped moving. 

“Stay.” Ratchet reminded Dino as the turbohound started jabbing his hips, trying to line up his spike with his bitch’s warm channel. 

Dino froze at Ratchet’s order, whining pitifully, but obedient. 

Ratchet slipped a hand into his subspace and pulled out a tube of lubricant. It wasn’t really needed. Sarge’s valve was still dripping lubricant and Dino’s spike was also steadily dripping lubrication as his systems primed themselves to fuck. But there was always room for more lubricant. Ratchet also took a moment to slip a hardline cable into Dino’s port so that he could share in the sensations from both mechs.

Ratchet slicked his hand up liberally and took Dino’s spike in a firm grip. Dino involuntarily humped Ratchet’s fist, but quickly stopped himself. Ratchet guided Dino’s spike to the entrance of Sarge’s valve. 

Dino trembled as he held himself still. He was a good boy. He was obedient. 

“Go!” Ratchet gave the order. 

Dino plunged into Sarge’s sloppy valve without hesitation, bottoming out on the first thrust. Sarge had been well reamed by Ratchet’s plug, followed by his fist, then followed by the large ovipositor. His valve was loose enough that Dino’s thrust caused only pleasure as the turbohound’s spike passed lightly over sensors sensitized by the pulsating of the ovipositor. 

Dino raced forward toward his own overload, heedless of the turbowolf underneath him. His charge was so high that Dino hit his peak quickly, groaning and leaning over Sarge as he discharged his first overload into Sarge’s receptive channel. 

Dino collapsed onto Sarge, momentarily satisfied. However, after a build up like that, and having his chastity seal removed, it would take several overloads before Dino’s system evened out. Dino briefly rested, letting his systems wind down and enjoying the slick clench of Sarge’s valve around his still-hard spike. 

Ratchet was also there with gentle words of praise for both mechanimals, slipping them each a treat. 

Dino perked up as the crispy tartness of a magnesium crunch burst across his taste receptors. He turned towards Ratchet, keenly interested to figure out if the mech had more treats and where he was storing them. 

Ratchet chuckled at the greedy look on the turbohound’s face. Dino clearly wanted more. Ratchet needed to distract the turbohound so he would get back to his job: fucking Sarge unconcious. Poor Sarge was starting to whine in frustrated disappointment as his charge slowly ebbed, and that wouldn’t do. 

Reaching around Dino’s rear, Ratchet’s fingers zeroed in on the external node just below Dino’s valve. Ratchet massaged it mercilessly, rocking the turbohound forward. 

Dino was distracted as much by the rough stimulation as he was by his spike slipping along Sarge’s moist valve. The stimulation of his node enhanced the stimulation his spike was receiving so that he barely noticed as Ratchet’s hand pulled back. Instinct took over as Dino rutted into Sarge’s valve again, ruthlessly fucking Sarge’s well-used valve. He was going to breed his bitch. 

Dino overloaded for a second time with a howl. This time, however, he did not pause to recover. Instead he rapidly drove himself forward into his third overload, this time taking Sarge with him. 

The two of them continued to race from overload to overload, occasionally encouraged by Ratchet’s clever fingers and a ready supply of treats. 

As Dino reached his sixth overload, however, he had already begun to slow down. It took longer and longer for him to reach his overload. 

Dino was tired and only the promise of another magnesium crunch was keeping him moving forward. 

Dino’s sixth overload came over him like a slowly rising tide instead of the headlong rush of his first overloads. Afterwards, Dino lay draped across Sarge’s back, exhausted. His spike was a weird mix of overly sensitive and numb and it was getting harder and harder to build up the charge needed to overload.

Sarge wasn’t in much better condition. He was well past being fucked silly. His body hung limply on the breeding frame and he hadn’t moved at all during Dino’s last two overloads. Sarge’s mouth hung open, drooling on the medberth without shame or much sign of any conscious thought. 

“Seven overloads for seven eggs. C’mon Dino, one more.” Ratchet tried to encourage the weary turbohound, but Dino only made a couple of half-hearted thrusts before stopping with a whine. 

Ratchet knew that he’d have to get drastic. He’d been looking forward to this. 

Ratchet grinned as quick ping came back positive from his fuck-silly submissives. 

Dino’s head turned as he heard the loud click of Ratchet’s interface paneling retracting. He watched disinterestedly as Ratchet’s spike extended, more than ready to join in the fun. 

Ratchet palmed his spike, spreading lubricant down his shaft as he scooted behind Dino. 

Dino jerked, startled as Ratchet’s wet spike brushed against his backside, his fingers testing Dino’s slutty little valve for its readiness. 

Satisfied, Ratchet lined himself up and thrust forwards, burying his spike a quarter of the way into Dino’s valve. The exquisite sensation of penetrating and being penetrated echoed through the hardline connection he shared with both mechs. He could feel his spike in Dino’s valve, and Dino’s spike in Sarge’s valve, and even Sarge’s neglected spike, hanging untouched.

Dino grunted as Ratchet thrust his way deeper and deeper into Dino’s warm valve, in the process rocking the tired turbohound’s spike into the tired turbowolf beneath him. 

Ratchet, having been highly turned on by the activity earlier, not to mention the tripled sensations, reached his first overload quickly. Then he settled into a steady pattern he could keep up until Dino finally overloaded for the last time as required.

Ratchet was monitoring Dino’s charge, and noticed that it wasn’t climbing as fast as he wanted it to. He reached down between Dino’s legs and started mercilessly manipulating the turbohound’s exterior node again. Dino yelped and bucked beneath Ratchet, throwing the dominant mech into his second overload before Ratchet was able to force Dino into his last overload. 

As his seventh and last overload washed over Dino the overtaxed turbohound collapsed in exhaustion. 

Mirage sent a quick ping to Ratchet and Hound’s systems. He was fucked out and done.

Hound, in the meantime, was still deep in his headspace and more than happy to float in mindless bliss.

Ratchet gently pulled out of Mirage. Grabbing a cloth he carefully wiped his spike off and retracted it. Once his spike was out of the way he carefully helped Mirage onto his knees before picking the limp submissive up.

Mirage whined softly as his spent spike slipped out of Sarge’s well-used valve. He huddled into Ratchet’s firm hold as his dominant carried him into the adjoining habsuite and laid him gently on the berth. 

Ratchet went to remove Mirage’s collar, but was stopped by Mirage. The submissive clearly wanted to keep it on, which wasn’t unusual for Mirage, so Ratchet left it. Instead he removed the vocalizer, setting it aside. 

Mirage stirred slightly as Ratchet slipped a warm blanket over him before settling into a well-deserved nap. The last thing he heard was Ratchet’s steps heading out into the medbay. 

Next, Ratchet collected his bitch turbowolf from the breeding stand. First Ratchet slipped a large plug into Sarge's channel, careful to make sure that it fit snugly. He didn’t want any more lubricant spilled all over his floors than already had. Sarge groaned faintly as the thick plug popped into place. 

It took some coaxing for Ratchet to get Sarge up and off the stand. Even then, Sarge was too tired to do anything other than waddle slowly and obediently at Ratchet’s heel. The eggs and Dino’s mech fluid sloshed back and forth in Sarge’s gestation tank as his weight shifted from side to side. 

Ratchet walked slowly into the habsuite and herded Sarge to his large nest of blankets at the foot of the bed. The mechanimal would need a long nap before he had enough energy to lay his clutch. 

Mirage was already deep in recharge on the berth. 

While Sarge curled up and made himself comfortable, Ratchet collected a handful of warm, damp chamois from the washracks. He used them to wipe down Mirage and Sarge, working gently around their exposed interface hardware and removing excess lubricant as they slept soundly. 

Done with that, Ratchet sat down on the berth next to Mirage and, leaning back against the wall, pulled out a pad full of paperwork. He might as well start filling out Mirage’s pre-mission medical clearance paperwork.

Hours later Mirage woke to see a magnesium crunch being held in front of his face. He leaned up and lipped it delicately from Ratchet’s fingers. Mirage leaned back and hummed lightly in appreciation as he savored the treat. Ratchet’s steady field next to him was comforting, and Hound’s field was the neutral blandness of a mech still deeply in recharge. 

Hound was still in scene, Mirage reminded himself. He would need to treat Sarge appropriately. 

“Feeling better?” Ratchet asked softly. 

Mirage nodded, leveraging himself up on his elbows. “Washracks,” he said, demandingly holding up his arms towards the dominant. 

Ratchet’s field was amused, but Ratchet held back his laughter for the sake of the turbowolf sleeping the sleep of the well-fucked in his nest at the end of the berth. 

Mirage leaned heavily on Ratchet the short distance to the washracks. Once there, Ratchet insisted that Mirage sit on a stool while Ratchet helped the vain noblemech clean himself meticulously from head to toe, very careful to get every speck of lubricant out of his seams. 

The dazed look on Mirage’s face as Ratchet gently rinsed off the submissive’s spike and valve made the medic chuckle. Mirage made a disgruntled noise in response as he carefully stood up so he could dry himself off and close his panels. 

Ratchet didn’t take Mirage’s reaction personally. It was just Mirage being Mirage. He loved to be pampered, but he also loved to complain about being pampered. Jazz didn’t help the situation with the way he thoroughly spoiled his submissive slut.

Afterwards Ratchet escorted Mirage over to the eating nook with its small energon dispenser. Ratchet pressed a small cube of energon into Mirage’s hands, and Mirage gave in with grudging grace. While Mirage had eaten plenty of solid energon that morning, a top up after a scene as intense as this one had been was a good idea. Ratchet considered yet again getting Mirage’s favorite type of energon dispenser installed in his suite here in the Harem, but it felt like a waste since Ratchet didn’t entertain Mirage nearly that often. 

“Sarge will be asleep for another couple of hours. We should be able to get your pre-mission checkup out of the way before he wakes up,” Ratchet proposed. 

“Let’s do that,” Mirage agreed, finishing off the cube. “When can I expect Jazz to arrive?” he asked as he set down the cube and followed Ratchet into the medbay, a lot more steady on his feet now. 

Ratchet bypassed the berth that he had used for their earlier activities, even thought he had cleaned it up while Mirage had been sleeping. Instead, Ratchet had Mirage hop up on the second berth. 

“Jazz entertained Optimus and Prowl last night while you were sleeping. He’s still recovering. Prowl will be preparing you for your mission.” 

Mirage pouted. He wanted to complain, but the decision had already been made. Besides, Prowl was good at preparing SpecOps mech before a mission. Prowl’s strength was the tactical side of SpecOps. Jazz’s strength was in managing his SpecOps agents as well as the rapid spontaneity that made him so unpredictable and his missions so successful.

Mirage submitted gracefully to Ratchet’s prodding and scans. 

It hadn’t been more than a day, and Mirage already missed his chastity seals. At least he’d get them back after the mission. It wasn’t a good idea for Mirage to wear the seals during a mission. If he was captured by the Decepticons rape was enough of a possibility without giving them a challenge. 

Ratchet was just wrapping up Mirage’s paperwork while Mirage lounged on the medbay berth when Hound’s systems pinged both mechs. Sarge was waking up. 

“Would you like to join us for the last act?” Ratchet asked Mirage politely as he gave the lithe spy a hand down from the medberth. 

“I suppose so,” Mirage replied loftfully. “Just, no more orgasms...”

Mirage pouted as Ratchet laughed uproariously.

***

Sarge woke up groggy from his nap, and stretched carefully. He looked up as he heard his master enter the room, Dino at his heels. 

Mirage followed Ratchet into the room. He had his collar and leash on and walked on all fours like a mechanimal, but he wasn’t using the Dino persona or the vocalizer. This last bit was purely for Sarge, not for Mirage. 

Ratchet unclipped Mirage’s leash and let him wander.

“Mmmmr,” Sarge grumbled as his master approached the nest and clipped a leash on his collar. With a click and a tug, Sarge was urged up onto his feet, groaning as the eggs inside him shifted. 

“That’s a good bitch,” Ratchet said gently. 

Sarge rested his head against his master’s knee. All he could focus on was the increasing pressure in his tank. He needed to move urgently. 

Ratchet looked down as Sarge continued to squirm. It was obvious that the turbowolf was trying to stay still, but couldn’t. It was a sign that his master knew all too well. 

“It looks like you’re due to whelp.” Ratchet led Sarge into the washracks, Mirage ambling along after them. 

Ratchet had Sarge stand in the center of the washracks while he knelt behind the turbowolf. 

Ripples of steady pressure verging on pain made Sarge whimper lightly as his master pulled him backwards against his body. Ratchet held Sarge’s forelegs securely as Sarge spread his hindlegs widely. It was a good position for whelping, and the eggs were coming. 

Sarge yelped as Ratchet pulled the plug out of his valve with a pop. He squirmed as a trickle of lubricant flowed onto the ground between his legs. With one hand, Ratchet placed a padded basket between Sarge’s knees, ready for when the turbowolf’s eggs began to drop.

Mirage sprawled in the doorway to watch.

Sarge groaned as the first egg dropped through his gestation tank’s expanded seal and into his channel. Rhythmic contractions slowly pushed the smooth metal egg further and further down his channel, putting pressure on his internal sensors. Sarge writhed in his master’s grip as the pressure became pain became unbearable pleasure. He howled, throwing his head back against his master’s shoulder as the egg slipped through his valve lips and into the waiting basket, followed by a gush of lubricant. Sarge trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure.

“There’s the first one,” Ratchet said comfortingly, rubbing at Sarge’s belly. The turbowolf whined as the contractions didn’t stop and the second egg began to descend.

Sarge had no problems with the second egg. It slipped smoothly into the basket, clinking sharply against the first egg. 

The third egg, however, got stuck at the entrance to Sarge’s valve. Sarge’s whimpering increased with each contraction as Ratchet felt around the outside of Sarge’s valve where his lips stretched tight around the egg. There was no obstruction, and there were no signs of tears in the mesh. With Ratchet’s murmured reassurances ringing in his ears, Sarge finally pushed hard enough, and with a roar and a leg-shaking overload the egg slipped out, leaving Sarge’s channel free for the fourth egg. 

:Wanna help him out?: Ratchet commed Mirage. 

:What are you thinking of?: Mirage asked. His charge had been very well discharged through the many, many overloads he’d had the last couple of days. However, while he was not sexually aroused by watching the end of Hound’s scene, watching his friend and fellow submissive enjoy himself gave Mirage a deeply sensual pleasure. It was like a candle compared to a bonfire. 

Mirage preferred it that way.

:Your mouth on his node?: Ratchet proposed, knowing that Mirage would take him up on the suggestion. Mirage’s oral obsession was well known among the inhabitants of the Harem. Combined with his deeply submissive streak it meant that Mirage was always willing to suck at a spike or lap a valve. (Mirage’s dominants didn’t worry about Mirage’s fetish being taken advantage of after he had showed that he had no problem cutting off any partner who wasn’t appropriately grateful for the attention.)

Mirage didn’t reply verbally. Instead, he pinged Hound. The ping came back positive. With a decidedly predatory look on his face, Mirage rose to his hands and knees and slinked towards the restrained mechanimal. 

Sarge started with surprise and cried out as Mirage leaned down and delicately lapped at his exterior node. Sarge’s biolight-adorned node flashed brightly above his valve lips, which were beginning to stretch to allow the fourth egg slowly work its way out of him. 

Ratchet pulled Sarge back until the mechanimal was draped limply across the medic’s chest in order to give Mirage a better angle to work with. Sarge didn’t care, his attention was completely focused on his rippling channel and the clever tongue making sweet love to his node.

Mirage paced himself, pulling back slightly as the fourth egg dropped, along with a gush of lubricant that had built up behind it. Sarge still had three more eggs to go, and Mirage didn’t want to wear out Sarge’s node before they reached the end. 

The fifth egg was only half way down Sarge’s channel when the overwhelmed turbowolf overloaded with a scream, charge crackling across Mirage’s lips and tongue. As Sarge came down from his overload, Ratchet discreetly checked the lips of his valve, nudging Mirage aside for a moment. The gentle caress of his overstimulated equipment drew a moan from Sarge.

The sixth egg progressed even slower than the previous eggs. Sarge was exhausted after his last overload and wanted to pass out, but the continuing contractions of his channel wouldn’t let him. He wouldn’t be allowed to sleep until all the eggs were out.

This time, as the egg reached the entrance of Sarge’s valve, Mirage used the opportunity to massage Sarge’s distended valve lips in between contractions. During contractions however, Mirage used his tongue to keep the egg at the entrance, leaving Sarge dangling on the pinnacle. The prolonged stimulation made Sarge thrash his head back and forth on Ratchet’s shoulder until the medic was forced to use one hand on Sarge’s forehead to hold the turbowolf’s head still. 

Sarge let loose with a keening moan and Mirage pulled back as the silvery egg finally slipped out of Sarge’s valve and into the basket. 

Between the exhaustion and back to back overloads Sarge had gone completely limp. The ongoing contractions would not let Sarge rest, however. They were under the control of his gestation tank programming, and once started, would not stop until his tank was completely empty. Ratchet’s free hand moved down to Sarge’s belly. He massaged the plating over Sarge’s gestation tank, as if he was massaging the last egg into place. 

Sarge could feel it as the last egg in his tank lined up with the entrance. He felt it as it slipped through the entrance and into the end of his channel. Then, with the gestation tank empty, the contractions stopped. Sarge would have to push the last egg out himself. He whimpered in distress. His channel felt large enough for a combiner to fist him without prep, but even then the egg would... not... move.

“Push, Sarge. Push,” Ratchet encouraged the tired turbowolf. 

Sarge grunted as he bore down, straining to pass the egg. 

Slowly, the egg moved. 

Unlike before, it didn’t move fast enough for the stimulation of his valve nodes to outweigh the discomfort and soreness of his well-stretched valve. 

Mirage lapped delicately at Sarge’s external nodes, giving the mechanimal something pleasant to counter the strain of pushing. Gradually, Mirage could feel the last egg as it reached the end of Sarge’s channel and caressed his lips. Mirage applied steady pressure to Sarge’s node as the egg gradually slipped further and further through Sarge’s valve lips before one last shove popped it out into the basket. Immediately, Mirage gave Sarge’s node a strong suck, drawing a shriek from the mechanimal as the combination of sudden relief and sudden pleasure catapulted Sarge into his last overload.

Hound slipped sideways in Ratchet’s grasp, unconsciousness. 

Mirage helped Ratchet lay the unconscious Hound down on the washrack floor. He moved the basket to a bench on the side of the room so that the eggs could be cleaned and inspected before storing them away until Hound’s next ‘breeding session.’ The two mechs worked quietly as they washed Hound down thoroughly, making sure that his body temperature didn’t dip as they dried him off. Then they carried Hound into the berthroom and laid him down so that Hound could sleep off the strain of the scene. 

Ratchet groaned as he laid down on the other half of the berth. He would stay with Hound until the submissive woke up so that he could be comforted by Ratchet’s EM field nearby while he slept. Ratchet was also too tired himself to do any cleaning up right now. There wasn’t anything that needed to be cleaned immediately. He’d do it later. 

Ratchet looked up at Mirage with a questioning look as Mirage crawled up between Ratchet’s legs. 

Mirage settled his chin on Ratchet’s abdomen and looked up at the other mech from between Ratchet’s spread thighs. 

:Open for me?: Mirage asked over his comms, out of consideration for Hound’s exhaustion. 

:You don’t need to—: Ratchet’s protest was weak and cut off quickly as Mirage pulled back and applied his clever tongue to the plating covering Ratchet’s interface hardware. 

:Let me show my appreciation,: Mirage replied, sinfully persuasive, looking Ratchet in the eye while his tongue slid slickly across Ratchet’s pelvis. 

Ratchet’s cover snapped back embarrassingly quick, releasing not his spike, like Mirage was expecting, but his soaked valve. 

Mirage lowered his mouth to Ratchet’s soaked valve and proceeded to delicately eat it out like it was a spun crystal confectionary. The biolights decorating Ratchet’s valve pulsed gently as Mirage’s tongue slowly and gently probed every fold and crevice it could reach. Mirage’s lips softly kissed and sucked at Ratchet’s node and valve lips. 

Ratchet’s overload came like a smooth tide rushing over him. He sighed in satisfaction, relaxing further into the berth, and nudged Mirage’s head gently to let the mech know that he’d had enough. 

Mirage wiped Ratchet down and helped him shut his plating before settling down for his own nap with his head pillowed on Ratchet’s thigh. He had a little while before he had to leave if he wanted to have at least a few minutes to talk to Barricade. Mirage set an alarm and relaxed into the sated fields of the mechs surrounding him. 

***

Barricade was in his room where his new master had left him. Jazz hadn’t come back yet, but Barricade wasn’t completely without things to do. In addition to a small energon dispenser, his room also had an entertainment console and even a couple of pads for writing or reading. A quick check confirmed that the console was not connected to the base system, so Barricade couldn’t communicate out. However, it was loaded with a large library of literature, videos, and single-player games. 

Barricade was flipping through the selection of videos when somebody pinged his door for entry. At first he was confused. He was a prisoner, a slave. Why would somebody need to ask permission to see him? 

As the door pinged again, Barricade belatedly scurried to the door. 

It was Mirage. 

Barricade barely let the other mech in the room before he glomped onto Mirage, holding him firmly. 

Mirage smiled a tired smile as he hugged Barricade. His field was tired, but satiated. Whatever had happened to him couldn’t be that bad.

“Hey. I don’t have long, but I wanted to talk to you before I go.”

Barricade’s chest tightened. “Go? Where are you going?” he asked. Was Mirage being taken away from him?

“Classified. I can’t tell you,” Mirage said gently. 

“But what if—” Barricade started to say before Mirage laid a finger on Barricade’s lips. 

“I’ll be back.” 

Barricade didn’t point out that that was what Mirage had said last time. And last time Barricade had thought his friend had been dead... until yesterday when he discovered that his dead friend was now an Autobot. 

“Before I go,” Mirage said, “I just wanted to say, obey Jazz. I know it’s too soon to trust him, but there is a reason for why he is going to do what he is going to do. When it’s all over, we can talk about it, for now, trust me?” 

Barricade nodded, but Mirage knew that he didn’t actually understand. This situation wasn’t fair to Barricade. Barricade didn’t understand the larger picture, and Mirage couldn’t tell him. Hopefully, by the time he got back, it would all be over and Mirage could help Barricade put the pieces back together again. Until then, Mirage would trust in Jazz’s skill and Barricade’s resiliency. 

Mirage’s timer reminded him that he was due at Prowl’s office soon. He would have to leave. With a final hug and caress, Mirage pulled back and left Barricade standing in the door to his rooms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As those of you who follow my other fanfiction project know, I am writing a novel. My plans are to self-publish it sometime next year.
> 
> If you want, you can follow me at my brand new Tumbler account to find out how things are coming along. (It might involve a lot of shitposting cat pictures.) 
> 
> My Tumblr: https://notkjanderson.tumblr.com/


	6. Barricade’s Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not kidding with the tags. Here there be dragons.

Barricade’s screams still echoed in Jazz’s ears as he coiled up the whip he had been using. At his feet, Barricade’s energon-bloodied body lay limp. Barricade’s fluorescent pink lifeblood decorated the walls where it had sprayed from the force of Jazz’s blows. 

Jazz cautiously prodded Barricade with one foot. The other mech was not to be underestimated. More than once he had tried to play possum and lure Jazz closer so he could strike. 

This was the real thing. 

Setting the whip aside, Jazz knelt down and carefully picked Barricade up, cradling Barricade’s head on his knees. The mech’s eyes had gone dim and distant. Barricade wasn’t unconscious, but he had clearly retreated into himself. His EM field was loose and relaxed. All the pain and chaos of the past few days was gone as if it had never happened. 

Jazz finally let himself relax. It was over. 

Jazz hoisted Barricade’s unresponsive body over his shoulder and dragged the larger mech to a table that could serve as a temporary berth. 

Jazz knew that Barricade didn’t have any serious life-threatening damage. He was more professional than that, but Jazz would still have to call in Ratchet to tend to the other mech. 

Jazz watched the pink energon dilute and swirl down the drain in the middle of the room as he hosed Barricade down. The break had come quicker this time than it had with Mirage. But then, Jazz had knew what he was doing this time. With Mirage he had taken too long, and spent too much time playing. 

Jazz had nearly lost Mirage. He wouldn't lose Barricade. 

Jazz was curious to see what personality Barricade would create based on his experience under Jazz’s hands. Prowl and Jazz had their theories about how the techniques used to break a mech would inform the resulting personality after breaking. Now they would have a second data point to use to validate those theories. 

Fortunately, Jazz remembered to clean off the walls before Ratchet showed up. However, it wasn’t until Ratchet had arrived and given Jazz a stern look that Jazz realized he should have cleaned himself off as well. 

***

It was like waking up. 

Except Barricade had never been asleep. 

It was confusion and fear. Emotions that Barricade had not allowed himself to feel for... he didn’t know how long. 

Things moved quickly. 

Too quickly.

Barricade gained consciousness lying in a nondescript room. 

Jazz was there. 

And Ratchet was there. 

Barricade didn’t remember why he was there. He flinched backwards in panic, but both mechs were there with soft words, talking him down. 

Ratchet was fixing him. His fingers tickled underneath Barricade’s plating. 

Jazz was holding his head. He was saying something, but it was just a river of noise to Barricade. His thumb gently rubbed the plating of Barricade’s cheek.

Barricade was starting to remember why. 

Should he be afraid of Jazz? 

He wasn’t. 

When Ratchet was done there was a soft blanket. He hid, huddled up warm and safe. 

Soon after that, Jazz disappeared somewhere. Barricade did not know where. 

Ratchet took Barricade from the featureless room and brought him to a medical room. It was nicer than any medical room that Barricade had ever been in. It was like a small apartment. There was a plush berth and even a private washracks. 

Barricade knew it was a medical room because it came with equipment with sensors that attached to Barricade’s frame and dinged when he thought too much.

Barricade was confused. He didn’t understand what had happened. His memories... possibly his entire life... was like a series of nightmares. He could remember them, but it was like it had happened to somebody else. 

It wasn’t him. 

Ratchet continued to fix him up, his hands gentle. That confused Barricade. 

Why? 

Suddenly Ratchet was next to Barricade, holding his hand and stroking his arm. 

Why was he doing that? 

Ratchet was asking Barricade what was wrong. 

Was something wrong? 

Barricade could hear somebody crying. 

Who was crying? 

Ratchet manipulated the machine that was patched into Barricade’s lines. 

Barricade got sleepy. He fell asleep to Ratchet’s calm, gentle voice and warm field. 

It was nice. 

***

Jazz twitched. The sensory baffles in the observation room played havoc with his finely-tuned sensors. It was necessary, though, if he didn’t want Barricade to know he was watching. 

Through the window in front of him Jazz had a perfect view of Barricade’s recovery room. Normally these rooms were used by keyed-up operatives returning from long term missions. They could recover from any injuries in a quiet haven away from other mechs. In these rooms they could come down from their mission high and be reintegrated back into the population of the Autobot base. 

Jazz also found the secure rooms handy when he needed to keep returning SpecOps mechs isolated while he made sure that his agents had not been compromised during their mission. 

For Barricade, the recovery rooms would serve much the same purpose. 

Jazz nodded briefly to Prowl as the other mech slipped into the observation room. He did not take his eyes off of Barricade. 

Barricade was on his berth, sleeping soundly. The medical equipment, no longer needed, had been removed. 

According to Ratchet’s reports Barricade was recovering well from the trauma he had suffered under Jazz’s hands when the mech had broken him. However, Ratchet still visited on a daily basis. He did it not because Barricade needed medical attention, but so that the currently isolated mech wouldn’t be lonely. 

It was time for Jazz to step back in and start reintegrating Barricade into his new life without the programming that had controlled him for so long.

Prowl stood next to Jazz, joining him in observing the sleeping mech. 

Jazz could feel Prowl’s attention heavy on his plating even though the other mech was not looking at him. 

“Yah, I’m doing it,” Jazz drawled. 

Prowl tilted his head in a bare acknowledgement. “I did not think otherwise. You understand the importance of acting while his personality is still... malleable.” They would not forcefully reprogram him like his previous owner, but Barricade’s preferences could still be influenced and moulded.

Jazz chuckled darkly. “Ya just want to confirm if we have ourselves a little pain slut.” He gave the other dominant a knowing look. 

While many of the Harem mechs enjoyed some spanking and light roughhousing, Jazz and Prowl had desires that were much more extreme than any of their current submissives could stomach. Not even Mirage’s overwhelming need to please his master would allow him to find pleasure in pain. Jazz had quickly put a stop to it the one time Mirage had tried. Mirage had been inconsolable for days because of his perceived failure as Jazz’s submissive until Jazz had finally convinced Mirage that he loved his obedient little slut just as he was.

It didn’t stop Jazz from wishing that the Harem had a submissive pain slut that he could play with, though. He played occasionally with Prowl, but the dynamic wasn’t as sweet as it would be with a submissive.

“If he broke the way you said he did, and if your hypothesis is correct, he should be,” Prowl pointed out. 

“Ya saw the tapes,” Jazz purred. “He was a natural. Better than anything found in the Black House.” 

Prowl tried to suppress his shiver of anticipation, but he wasn’t completely successful judging by Jazz’s widening smirk. The Black House had been a legendary house of courtesans who, before the war, had specifically catered to mechs with extreme tastes. However, it was well known that many of the Black House’s courtesans had chosen to have their neural nets reprogrammed for the job. Which was fine for them, but a mech who came by the talent naturally was always in higher demand.

The way that Barricade had risen up to meet the lash, the way that he’d begged so prettily even as energon dripped from the edges of his plating... Prowl’s interface hardware started warming in anticipation, but he resolutely ignored it. 

Jazz turned towards Prowl with a lecherous smile. He’d noticed Prowl’s field go molten with desire while they talked. Prowl submitted as Jazz pulled down his head for a long searing kiss. 

Then, with a wink and a grope, Jazz slid out of the observation room. 

Alone in the observation room, Prowl focused on cooling down his libido. He’d get back at Jazz later. 

***

Barricade woke up to find Jazz sitting at the foot of his berth. 

For the last few days Barricade had been kept in the same isolated room while he recovered. He had reading material and a small holo entertainment set — even his own washracks — but the door was kept locked. He was not allowed to leave. 

Barricade was still a prisoner. 

Somehow, even though the head of Autobot SpecOps had come into the room while he was asleep, Barricade was not afraid. He groggily rolled sideways, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. Sleepily he shuffled down the length of the berth until, with an oomph, he collapsed into Jazz’s lap. 

The smaller mech was just about bowled over backward. Jazz ended up sprawled backwards across the foot of the berth with a half-asleep and purring Barricade pinning him down. 

Jazz wasn’t worried about being overpowered and hurt by the other mech. Even though Jazz was just starting to discover who Barricade had become, he knew that Barricade would not hurt him, at least on purpose. He was too thoroughly broken.

Besides, Prowl was still watching from the other side of the observation window. Jazz’s plating was still slightly warm from their charged discussion. 

Jazz pushed lightly at Barrciade’s warm bulk, but Barricade just growled disobediently and cuddled more aggressively. 

“Okay, okay,” Jazz gave up and absently scritched Barricade’s helm until the squirmy mech settled down with a purr. “How are you feeling?” Jazz asked. 

Barricade shifted so that he could look up at Jazz’s face and yawned, showing off his impressively sharpened teeth. “Tired,” Barricade replied, his voice staticy, but slowly becoming clearer as he woke up. 

Barricade shook his head and buried his face under Jazz’s arm. He didn’t want to wake up.

Jazz smiled at Barricade’s antics. There was a lightness to the mech that had not been there before, almost an innocence. “What else?” he asked.

Barricade made a grumpy noise. “Don’t wanna to be me,” he said, then made a weird face. “I also trust you too much.” 

Jazz stroked Barricade’s helm, keeping his field welcoming and positive. “Tha’ sounds about right,” he drawled. 

Barricade shifted so that he was laying alongside Jazz instead of on top of him. He curled into the smaller mech’s side, hunching so that they fit together better. “Why?” he asked, mouthing at Jazz’s throat cables. 

Jazz laughed and gently pushed Barricade’s face away from his neck. He didn’t need tooth marks in his cables, and he was beginning to figure out that Barricade was an enthusiastic nibbler.

Barricade made a needy sound.

Playing on a hunch, Jazz pulled a toy out of his subspace and showed it to Barricade. “Looking for this?” 

The larger mech tried to lunge forward, but Barricade was still lying on his side. He didn’t have enough leverage to reach and Jazz kept holding it just a little too far away. 

“Please,” Barricade said, turning his gaze towards the person who was controlling his toy. 

Jazz found something unsettling about how effectively Barricade was able to employ turbopuppy optics. Before now, he would have never used the words ‘turbopuppy optics’ to describe the Decepticon warrior. But then, he’d witnessed the massive swing in Mirage’s personality. It made him angry to think that whatever had been done to Barricade had turned a sweet mech into a ball of anger and rage. 

“Ask nicely,” Jazz said encouragingly. It was best to start getting Barricade used to the idea of openly expressing his desires. Whether his dominants chose to fulfill them was another thing.

“Can I please have the bit gag... master?” The title was clumsy. Barricade was obviously not completely comfortable with it. 

Jazz held one finger to Barricade’s lips and smiled as Barricade tried to focus on his finger. “Ya don’t need to call me ‘master’ if it doesn’t feel right,” Jazz said. His hand slipped down to cradle Barricade’s chin. “Now, open up.” 

Barricade eagerly complied and Jazz slipped the bit gag between his teeth. With a contentedly happy look on his face, Barricade twisted his head to rub his cheek against Jazz’s hand in thanks. 

Jazz was amused by just how sweet the notoriously surly and mean mech had become. But then, Jazz hadn’t expected a notorious Decepticon assassin to become an obedient and eager to please submissive either. The look of contented pleasure on Barricade’s face as he accepted the bit gag was not unlike Mirage’s when his chastity seals were applied again. Jazz suppressed his lustful shiver. He knew it was unlikely that Barricade would be able to settle down into a comfortable life as a neutral without a dominant to take care of him. Being the person who broke Barricade, Jazz felt responsible for Barricade’s well being. Between the war and the fact that Jazz didn’t know who had reprogrammed Barricade in the first place, the only dominants that he could trust with Barricade were the dominants of the Harem. 

Barricade laid back down to contentedly nuzzle Jazz’s chest. His field was full of contented, warm arousal that was not helping Jazz maintain his control.

“Can ya pay attention to me now?” Jazz asked seriously. 

Barricade nodded, his half open mouth leaving streaks of oral lubricant on Jazz’s plating. 

“We need to talk ‘bout what happened,” Jazz said, resuming his stroking of Barricade’s head and neck. “Behave and we’ll play when I’m done.” As much as Jazz wanted to start testing Barricade’s sexual boundaries, gathering information was more important. This was also a lesson for Barricade. Work before pleasure. 

Barricade squirmed, but didn’t protest. 

“Agreed?” Jazz asked pointedly, reinforcing his earlier lesson that Barricade had to learn how to communicate. 

Barricade nodded. “Yes.” He spoke easily around the gag in his mouth, though his voice came out with a bit more echo than usual.

“Good mech,” Jazz praised him. He then slipped his hand back into his subspace and brought out a section of armor plating. “You recognize this?” he asked Barricade, holding it up in front of the other mech. It was matte black on one side and fairly nondescript. 

A reflexive expression of disgust crossed Barricade’s face at having a disembodied piece of armor unceremoniously placed in front of his face. His expression changed as he recognized it. “It’s Umbra's.” Barricade’s field had tightened up, the warm fuzzy arousal fading slightly.

Jazz nodded, giving Barricade a comforting stroke with his other hand. He kept his voice calm and level. “Correct. It was Umbra’s.” Jazz flipped over the piece of armor to show the underside. “Do you recognize this symbol?”

“No,” Barricade replied, but Jazz noticed that the other mech had started subtly shaking. “Never seen it before. Not that I necessarily remember everything I’ve ever seen, but I think I’d remember something like that. What is it doing on the inside of Umbra’s armor? If it was in there I wouldn’t have seen it because it wasn’t like we were in the habit of taking off our armor together. Or at all. After all...” 

“It’s okay,” Jazz gently shushed Barricade as the other mech’s sudden outpouring of dialogue quickly veered off track. Whether he knew about it or not, Barricade definitely had a reaction to it. 

“You don’t know what it is, but what does it make you feel?” 

By the way that Barricade’s field fluctuated as he flinched, Jazz had a pretty good idea. 

“Bad,” was all Barricade would say before he buried his face in Jazz’s chest again. Jazz let him, subspacing the armor again and wrapping his arms around Barricade.

“No more detail than that?” 

Barricade shook his head. 

Jazz didn’t push him. Barricade’s breaking was too recent for Jazz start creating fresh wounds. 

“What happened to Umbra?” Barricade asked.

“I caught Umbra,” Jazz said, keeping the story simple and limited to the bits that Barricade needed to know. Barricade could learn all the details from Mirage later if the mech wanted to tell him. “And I interrogated him. Things happened, and I ended up having to break him in order to save him. Just like I had to do with you.”

“Why?” Barricade asked plaintively. 

“I need your arm... no your other arm,” Jazz clarified as Barricade obediently responded. Jazz worked quickly, deft fingers flying over manual armor locks until a piece of Barricade’s armor came off in Jazz’s hand. 

Barricade watched morbidly as Jazz turned the detached armor plate over. On the underside of the armor was etched the same symbol that Jazz had showed him on Umbra’s armor. 

Barricade reached out, as if to touch it, but he couldn’t. His fingers hovered over the etching. He shivered. It felt like rust mites were skittering around underneath his armor. 

“What is that?” Barricade asked.

Instead of responding immediately, Jazz turned the plate over so that Barricade couldn’t see the symbol anymore. He started to reattach it. 

The armor felt funny now that Barricade knew what was under it. It was wrong. He wanted to tear at it with his claws, but Jazz’s firm grip caught him before he could do more than scratch his finish. After a brief struggle Jazz successfully cuffed Barricade’s hands behind his back. 

Jazz laid back down on the berth with his back against the wall. After his struggle, Barricade was now laying face down across Jazz’s lap. Jazz massaged Barricade’s arms soothingly as the mech continued to squirm. 

Eventually Barricade calmed down. Jazz’s touch helped... barely. 

“I don’t know what it stands for,” Jazz eventually admitted. He hated not knowing. It was his job to know things. And if he didn’t know something, it was his job to find out. The fact that he hadn’t found anything so far rankled him. “I only know that I’ve only seen this symbol on two mechs.”

“Umbra and me,” Barricade said softly. 

“Exactly. Both you and Umbra were, at some point, reprogrammed.” Jazz pulled Barricade up so that the mech sat on Jazz’s lap, facing him. Jazz set the magnets in his hand to a gentle pulse and ran soothing touches down Barricade’s back and doorwings.

Barricade laid his head on Jazz’s shoulder. He slowly relaxed under Jazz’s practiced touches. 

“After I broke his programming, Umbra said he didn’t feel like himself anymore. It took him a while, but he eventually chose to become Mirage,” Jazz explained. “He went through a full-frame rebuild, repaint, and a new name before he felt like himself again.”

“You did all that for him?” Barricade asked. Full-frame rebuilds had been rare even before the war. Now that the war had tightened resources, they were unheard of. Barricade shifted against Jazz’s lap.

Jazz smiled and gave the side of Barricade’s head a gentle kiss. He repositioned his hands, moving from gently soothing to gently arousing. “Mirage is my responsibility now,” Jazz explained. “His changes also helped him integrate with the Autobots, and he found a new function.”

“You mean he’s not an assassin anymore?” Barricade asked. Umbra had always been slightly unhinged, but had seemed to sincerely love his job. But then, Umbra had been through the same treatment Barricade had just gone through, and Barricade didn’t feel much like ‘Barricade’ any more. 

Jazz chuckled. “No. He’s a spy, my second in command, and my submissive. When Mirage isn’t running SpecOps, he’s running the Harem and ordering his other dominants around.”

“The Harem?” Barricade parroted. It seemed like that was all he could do during this entire conversation.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Jazz said, using a finger under Barricade’s chin to tip his head up and off of his shoulder. “If you decide to stay.” 

Barricade shuddered as he met Jazz’s gaze. “But...” 

“Your job right now is to get better. We’ll help you with a new body and a new identity if you want them. We’ll help you find a new function. If you want to become a neutral, we’ll help you relocate. If you want to become an Autobot, we’ll help you integrate.”

“What if I want to become a Decepticon again?” Barricade said, not believing how bold he sounded.

Jazz just laughed. “We’ll help you with that, too, but it would be a little more tricky,” Jazz admitted. It wouldn’t be completely impossible. After all, Jazz had experience creating identities for his long-term infiltrators. However, it was highly dangerous work and not guaranteed to be successful. Jazz would have to make sure that Barricade didn’t choose that route, because he wouldn’t be able to keep Barricade safe.

Barricade looked aside and fidgeted. 

Jazz waited patiently. 

“What if I want to become your submissive slut?” Barricade eventually asked in a small voice. 

“We’ll help you with that too,” Jazz answered evenly, hiding his surge of triumph. “If the two of us don’t work out, there are several other dominants that I trust to take you under their care.” Jazz had to let Barricade know he had options, even if he was very sure that Barricade wouldn’t take them.

Barricade shook his head. “I’m staying with Mirage,” he insisted. 

Jazz chuckled at Barricade’s charming stubbornness. The submissive was as good as his. “I may be Mirage’s master,” he explained, “but I am not a possessive one. Mirage also plays with a handful of other dominants I trust. If you want, you can too.”

Jazz could sense Barricade’s confusion. Barricade clearly didn’t understand how that could work. “Wait until Mirage is back,” he advised. “Ask him. He will be able to explain everything better.” 

Barricade nodded reluctantly. Jazz’s attempt at explaining everything had only given him more questions than answers. In the meantime, however... 

Barricade squirmed in Jazz’s lap, grinding down against the smaller mech’s codpiece. With the gag... and the cuffs... and Jazz’s teasing touches, he was rapidly warming up. Being bound, though, Barricade wasn’t able to take care of it himself. 

Jazz smirked. His efforts were paying off. “I did promise you a reward earlier, didn’t I?” he purred sinfully. 

Barricade whimpered as Jazz’s voice did tempting things to his libido and nodded enthusiastically. 

“What do you want to do?” Jazz asked Barricade. If Barricade decided to join the Harem they would take the time to explore Barricade’s kinks in full and get a proper file created for Barricade. For now, each encounter would need to be discussed. 

Barricade seemed confused by Jazz’s question. 

“How would you like to be fucked?” Jazz said, more crudely. “Or, would you like to do the fucking?” Best to keep it simple right now. The gag and cuffs were enough kink. Though, he still wanted an opportunity to test out Barricade’s reaction to pain.

“I wanna be fucked,” Barricade blurted out. “Hard. Please?” 

Barricade was adorable, Jazz thought. “What position do you want me to fuck you in?” Jazz asked, drawing his hands down Barricade’s sides to rest on the mech’s thighs.

Barricade clumsily slid off of Jazz’s lap, landing face down on the berth next to Jazz. It was awkward with his hands bound behind his back, but he was eventually able to squirm so that he was facing away from Jazz. Barricade stuck his ass as high in the air as he could, waving it in what he hoped was a seductive sway. In case Jazz still hadn’t gotten the idea, Barricade retracted his interface panel, leaving his dripping valve open to the air. 

To his frustration, Jazz didn’t seem to get the hint. 

Barricade couldn’t see Jazz’s lecherous smile as the other mech brought his field under tight control. “You need to ask for what you need,” Jazz explained teasingly, moving to settle on his knees behind Barricade. He admired how the biolights of his new submissive’s pretty valve twinkled merrily.

“To be fucked...?” Barricade said tentatively. 

It was clear to Jazz that Barricade still didn’t understand. “How about this,” Jazz said in his smooth voice. Barricade obviously needed some help to get going. “I’m going to finger you until you’re loose and sopping wet. I’ll bring you close to the edge, maybe more than once. However, you’re not going to come until I drive my spike into your sweet valve. How does that sound?”

Barricade was nodding his head frantically, trying to twist his head to look at Jazz. 

“Then pay attention,” Jazz said sternly, tapping Barricade’s ass smartly. It wasn’t as hard as he would do if he was spanking Barricade, but he was very, very tempted.

Barricade stilled. 

“If, for any reason, you need to stop, such as if something’s hurting in a bad way or if you’re getting overwhelmed, you will tell me ‘stop,’” Jazz ordered sternly. “If you just want me to pause what I’m doing or if you need a break say ‘slow.’” The safe words were very basic compared to the nuanced ping system that they’d developed for Mirage, then spread to the rest of the Harem, but basic was better to start with. 

Jazz could feel that Barricade wasn’t understanding. “If you need me to stop, what do you say?”

“... stop?” Barricade mumbled into the berth covers. He was trembling, his valve was drooling, and he wanted to be fucked. He didn’t want to talk. Jazz was talking too much. 

Jazz reached forward and gave Barricade’s bound hands a tug, pulling the mech’s attention back to him. “If you need me to slow down, what do you say?” 

“Slow,” Barricade said, annoyed, figuring out that Jazz wasn’t going to start until he was done with this stupid stuff. 

“Barricade!” Jazz barked. 

Barricade froze. 

Jazz’s voice was uncompromisingly stern. “I will not be upset if you ask me to stop. However, if you need me to stop and you didn’t tell me to stop, I will be very upset. If you can’t follow these rules, tell me now and I’ll untie you.” Jazz left unspoken that doing so would also mean that they wouldn’t have sex. As much as he really wanted to fuck his new slut fast and hard, he didn’t want to break his new toy.

Barricade shook his head frantically. He didn’t want Jazz to stop. He wanted to be fucked hard and put away wet. “I promise,” he whimpered, praying that Jazz believed him. Barricade wanted the sore valve, limp body, and empty mind that came from being fucked into oblivion. 

Fortunately, Jazz did. Barricade could feel the other mech’s warm body against his thighs as Jazz took Barricade’s hips in a strong grip and repositioned the submissive mech as he wished. 

Barricade groaned as Jazz finally touched him. Jazz’s fingers trailed lightly across the entrance of his valve. Instead of diving right in, however, the dominant mech slowly teased out the first drops of lubricant from Barricade’s valve and set about thoroughly coating every single square millimeter of Barricade’s outer valve lips. 

The light, teasing touches were torture. Jazz’s movements were also without pattern. As his fingers approached Barricade’s outer node, Barricade would squirm, trying to trick Jazz into touching his node, only for the black and white mech to skip over it entirely and start on another part of his valve. 

“Please...” Barricade finally asked. 

Jazz stopped his teasing movements. 

Barricade whined in protest. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Jazz asked deviously. 

Barricade shook his head desperately. “No! More, please,” he begged, trying to shuffle backwards towards Jazz. Toward Jazz’s spike.

Jazz gave his disobedient slut’s valve lip a brief pinch. 

Barricade yelped and shuddered. The sensation itself was there and gone quickly. Just a sting. But the blooming warmth it left behind had Barricade sobbing. 

Jazz smirked as Barricade’s field became molten heat in all the right ways. “Now, now,” Jazz chided Barricade patiently. “You agreed. I am going to finger you until I think you’re ready. And I don’t think you’re ready yet.” 

He placed one finger on Barricade’s outer node and slowly applied firm pressure. 

Barricade wavered as the spike of pleasure from his node mixed with the slowly gathering pain from the same sensor. His voice rose in a keen that broke into sobs as Jazz eventually relented, pulling back. Jazz went back to gently teasing Barricade’s valve lips, but it was still too gentle for Barricade. 

“Please,” Barricade whimpered brokenly, mindlessly. He wanted more. Barricade was acutely aware of his node as it throbbed warmly between his thighs.

“Please what?” Jazz said teasingly, his voice gone rough with his own ruthlessly controlled passion.

Jazz would still only lightly massage Barricade’s own intimate lubricants into his outer lips. It wasn’t enough. “...fuck me...” Barricade gasped, desperation clear in his voice and in his field. 

Barricade grunted, surprised, as Jazz swiftly slipped two fingers into his wet valve with a squinch of lubricant. 

Barricade then squealed as Jazz scissored his fingers, prodding against the sensitive, sensor-rich inner mesh.

Barricade rocked as Jazz started a slow, thrusting cadence. He cried out, unashamed, with each gentle thrust as Jazz steadily worked his fingers in Barricade’s valve. 

“Please,” Barricade pleaded as Jazz removed his fingers. “Please fuck me. Please fuck me,” he chanted.

Barricade squealed as Jazz again pinched his sore and swollen node. The heated spike of pleasure and pain distracted the submissive mech from Jazz’s movements as he lined up his spike at the entrance of Barricade’s valve. 

Jazz teasingly rubbed the tip of his spike across the opening of Barricade’s valve, lubricated lips slipping slickly across the shaft of Jazz’s spike. 

Barricade’s desperate field and babbled pleas washed over Jazz as he very slowly, millimeter by millimeter, slipped his spike into Barricade’s willing valve. Until gradually Jazz knelt there, unmoving, spike fully hilted in his sobbing submissive. 

Barricade tried to push back against Jazz. He had been spiked, but now he wanted to be fucked. He wanted to be pounded so hard that he forgot what his name was. 

Jazz just tightened his grip on Barricade’s hips. 

When that didn’t prompt Jazz into finally fucking him, Barricade decided to thrash harder. A breathlessly chanted refrain of “Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.” fell from his lips.

Jazz rode Barricade’s ass, holding tight to the mech’s hips, keeping his spike unmoving in Barricade’s sweet valve until the wild mech slowly gave in, collapsed forward, and stopped with one last gasped plea. 

Only once Jazz was satisfied that Barricade had truely given up, did he pull back and proceeded to fuck Barricade as hard as he could. 

Jazz’s hips slapped against Barricade’s ass as Jazz rode Barricade ferociously. The submissive mech had learned his lesson and held still as he was thoroughly plowed. Soft moans and grunts escaped Barricade as Jazz drilled into his little hole with increasing force. 

The uncaring brutality of it, his dominant’s seeming lack of care for Barricade’s pleasure as he chased his overload... something about it stoked the fire burning low in Barricade’s belly. It felt marvelous. Barricade wanted to roll around in the sensation like it was crystal dust, coating his body in good feelings. 

Barricade giggled drunkenly.

With the charge he could feel building in his lines Jazz knew that he was reaching his peak. He could also tell that Barricade still needed a bit more before he would reach his. Jazz reached around Barricade’s hip and down to Barricade’s valve. Barricade’s spike was still retracted, so instead Jazz’s fingers zeroed in on Barricade’s swollen and abused outer node. The jolt of pleasured pain from Jazz brushing the tender bundle of overstimulated sensors sent Barricade into a screaming overload, Jazz following soon after. Jazz’s last thrust slammed hard into Barricade. He held himself in place as if the two had become magnetized together as he pumped Barricade full of his transfluid. 

Barricade was a limp pile of satisfied submissive underneath him. 

Jazz collapsed forward, rolling tiredly to the side where he rested a moment. 

Eventually heaving himself to his feet, Jazz stumbled to the washracks where he gave himself a quick wipe down and fetched a warm, wet chamois to wipe down his submissive with. 

Once done, Jazz pulled a warming tarp over Barricade and moved to undo his bonds.

Barricade stirred. “Stay with me?” he asked in a bleary voice. 

Jazz hesitated. “I can’t, you’re still on probation,” he explained. 

Barricade pouted. “I’m not going to kill somebody that can fuck me unconcious.” 

Jazz laughed. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he said suggestively. 

Jazz took a firm grip of Barricade’s still-bound hands. “Tell you what. I’ll stay, but you will remain bound.”

Barricade tiredly nodded his enthusiastic agreement almost before Jazz was done talking. 

Amused, Jazz unfastened the clip holding Barricade’s arms behind his back and refastened them in front of him. The position allowed Barricade to be more comfortable, and Jazz wasn’t worried about Barricade disobeying and removing the cuffs during the night. The effort would probably wake Jazz, and it would be a pleasant pretence to discipline the submissive later. 

It took Jazz longer to convince Barricade to release the bit gag from his mouth. He waited until the groggy submissive was half asleep before deftly slipping it out of his mouth. Barricade’s attempt to bite Jazz was half-hearted at best, his teeth snapping shut several seconds after the bit was gone. He settled down quickly, though, and fell asleep as Jazz cuddled him from behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t read too much into Mirage’s former name. I just needed a name of a Decepticon assassin and I found Umbra. Umbra was a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ character in one of the comics who tried to kill Optimus Prime, failed miserably, and committed suicide. 
> 
> Maybe one of these days I’ll write Jazz and Umbra’s story.


	7. Welcome Home Mirage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't get too used to these rapid updates. The next chapter is shaping up to be longer, so it might not be done by next Friday. 
> 
> Also, I start working on the novel November 1, so there will be a hiatus.

Jazz slipped into the darkened isolation room. The mech laying on the berth in the middle of the room appeared to be asleep. Jazz’s stealth-optimized scanners could tell that Mirage was awake, though, and had probably been since before Jazz had even opened the door. 

Jazz left the lights off and crossed the room without dampening his signal. 

Mirage allowed his biolights to slowly brighten and his optics to light up as he turned his head towards Jazz. Frowning at what he saw, Mirage held out a beckoning hand towards his approaching master. 

Jazz ignored Mirage’s outstretched hand and walked to the side of the berth, placing his hands on the edge next to Mirage’s torso. For some reason he was loath to touch the recovering mech.

Mirage wrapped his arm around Jazz’s waist, but otherwise lay still as his master inspected him. Jazz always checked over his operatives when they came back from a mission, especially when it was Mirage. After all, Mirage was his to care for. 

Mirage had come back from his mission damaged, which Mirage was not happy about. He felt that it reflected poorly on his abilities. Seeing Mirage damaged also made Jazz unhappy, which made Mirage more unhappy. 

This time there was also the added complication of Barricade. While Mirage had been away, Jazz had broken Barricade. Mirage was expecting Jazz to have some kind of reaction to breaking Barricade, but he was uncertain what it would be. When Jazz had broken Mirage, Mirage had been too busy piercing his sense of self back together to focus on much else. Knowing Jazz as he did now, Mirage assumed that Jazz had tried to hide any reaction he’d had out of concern that it was a trick. 

Mirage was determined that this time he would be there for his master. He also didn’t like the muddied field that he was feeling from Jazz. 

Mirage subtly modulated his field with an undercurrent of supportive emotions and waited. 

Jazz reached up and finally touched Mirage, tracing the faint welding lines left on Mirage’s body by Ratchet’s repairs. Ratchet did good work. Within a week the traces would be unnoticeable, except on a medical scan. 

As Jazz traced his healing wounds, Mirage’s sensor net slowly primed. The healing sections were sensitive, and Jazz’s gentle attentions warmed Mirage’s spark and interface components. Mirage could tell that Jazz wasn’t interested in interfacing, at least not yet, so he resolutely ignored the slowly building sensations and waited for Jazz to admit why he was hesitating. 

Mirage could be very, very patient. 

This time Jazz was not nearly as patient as Mirage. With a final, gentle swipe of his fingers, Jazz smiled a haunted grin and lowered his hand to the berth. “I failed ya,” Jazz admitted softly, carefully not looking Mirage in the eyes. 

“You’ve never failed me,” Mirage disagreed. 

Jazz was in a strangely pensive mood. Mirage was used to Jazz’s lighting quick wit and buried darkness. This slow contemplativeness was out of character. Mirage frowned. He let his fingers trail across Jazz’s side where he was embracing the other mech, trying to reinforce the sense of comfort he was radiating in his field.

“I should have found another way,” Jazz countered, sounding guilty. 

Mirage realized what was causing Jazz’s introspective behavior. “Is this about when you broke me in?” Mirage asked, confronting the issue head-on. 

Jazz nodded shallowly. “It went smoother this time with Barricade. Made me aware of how much I fucked up with you.” 

“Good,” Mirage said bluntly. This was not the time for creative word games. “Otherwise I’d be upset that you didn’t learn anything the first time around. Granted, those were some fucking weird kinks to end up with.”

Mirage held onto Jazz tightly as the smaller mech jolted with shock. “You know?” Jazz exclaimed with wide eyes. 

Mirage snorted inelegantly, giving Jazz a haughty look. “It wasn’t hard to figure out. You broke my programming, not my intelligence.”

Jazz laughed a short and ugly laugh. 

Mirage realized that trying to jolt Jazz out of his dark mood was not going to work. “Okay, that’s it,” he said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. 

Jazz squacked as Mirage shifted. “Ratchet—!” he exclaimed, worried about Mirage’s still healing wounds.

“Will forgive me when I tell him how much of a morose idiot you are being,” Mirage said ruthlessly, tugging on Jazz’s arm. “Now, get up here before I have to pull you up and end up busting a weld. Then Ratchet will be after both of us.” 

It took some more bullying, but Mirage eventually had Jazz laying on the berth next to him. Jazz was stiff and unmoving, however, even as Mirage cuddled him aggressively. 

“Don’t you regret—” 

“No,” Mirage quickly cut Jazz’s question short. “I don’t regret anything, and neither should you.” 

Mirage pulled Jazz’s head up so that he could look the other mech in the eyes. “You gave me back my ability to choose. To say ‘no.’ You gave me the freedom to live the life I want to live and the freedom to change it if I want to.” 

Jazz gave Mirage a knowing look. “We both know you’ll never want to leave,” he said, laying a casually possessive hand on the side of Mirage’s neck.

In a sudden flurry of movement Mirage flipped Jazz facedown. Mirage was now firmly seated on top of the stunned mech, pinning him down. Mirage’s hand slipped between Jazz’s armor plates to take a firm grip on some very sensitive neural bundles. 

Jazz froze, his battle systems belatedly spinning up. If Mirage tore out those wires, he would be paralyzed. After that, it would be easy to maim or kill him. 

Mirage leaned down far enough that he could speak directly into Jazz’s ear, but far enough away that Jazz couldn’t hit him. Mirage’s field was playful, but his voice was rough with the darker tones reminiscent of somebody he wasn’t any longer as he growled. “Are you so used to having your pliant, submissive little fuck toy that you’ve forgotten who I used to be?” Mirage’s hand tightened around the wires he held and Jazz keened involuntarily at the confusion of feedback from the pinched neural lines. 

Jazz knew Mirage wouldn’t kill him. He believed that. But Mirage wasn’t acting much like Mirage right now.

“Besides. You’re just as emotionally compromised as I am,” Mirage pointed out, releasing Jazz. 

They both knew it was true. Mirage would no more leave Jazz than Jazz would leave Mirage. 

Mirage also took comfort in the fact that Jazz showed every sign of being happy with his ownership of Mirage and the master and slave dynamic in their relationship. However, the situation with Barricade was stirring up raw emotions, and apparently a few doubts. Mirage’s little challenge would go a long way towards reassuring Jazz. Occasionally he needed a reminder that Mirage was more than a delicate little toy on the end of his leash.

“I’m happy exactly where I am,” Mirage emphasized, his hands caressing Jazz’s back. He wasn’t really holding his Master down any more, but Jazz wasn’t exactly trying to escape from Mirage’s talented fingers. “Whether this is due to leftover coding or deep emotional connection — or most likely a combination of the two — I don’t care. As long as we are both happy.”

“I am so fucking turned on right now.” Jazz admitted, abruptly changing the topic. He was sure that Mirage could feel his panel warming where Mirage’s leg was pressed up against it. Actually... Jazz withdrew his panel, rubbing his moist valve lips against Mirage’s leg lewdly. Competence always turned him on. There was a reason why Mirage had become Jazz’s second in command, and it wasn’t because Mirage was fucking his commander (and the majority of Autobot high command as well).

Mirage’s hands stilled on Jazz’s back plating. “Order me,” Mirage demanded, his voice rough.

“Fuck me,” Jazz commanded, bucking his hips. “Hard.”

“No,” Mirage replied ruthlessly. Mirage didn’t feel like fucking, and he knew that Jazz could feel that in his field. “Doctor’s orders,” Mirage taunted Jazz. 

“Then find somebody to fuck me!” Jazz hissed demandingly. 

Mirage captured and held Jazz’s hands securely above his head. 

Jazz didn’t like it. He gave a complaining gasp as Mirage’s movement let cool air tickled his damp and heated valve. Not only was Mirage no longer massaging him, but Jazz couldn’t hump himself against Mirage’s leg. 

Mirage smirked, kissing the side of Jazz’s helm as he opened a comm line with Ratchet. After all, he didn’t want to give away Jazz’s surprise. The other dominant would be able to get him up to speed on the current state of the Harem. Ratchet might even be willing to come and settle down Mirage’s fractious master for him

As Mirage talked to Ratchet he reached into Jazz’s subspace and brought out a vibrating spike Jazz just so happened to be carrying. Needless to say, Mirage was very familiar with this model. He also had all the remote control codes. 

Once Mirage let Jazz have a glimpse of what he was holding, Jazz was more than happy not to escape while Mirage let go of his hands long enough to reach down and slip the vibrator into Jazz’s warm valve. The randomized program would keep Jazz occupied while he waited for the mech who would fuck his brains out. 

***

Barricade shifted his feet nervously as he pinged the door in front of him for permission to enter. 

Barricade had been surprised and happy when Mirage had contacted him. Apparently Mirage was back from his mission and Barricade was eager to reconnect with his friend and fellow submissive. What Mirage had asked him to do, however... He wasn’t quite sure if he should believe the other mech. Not that Barricade didn’t trust Mirage, but he wasn’t exactly certain what he’d find inside. 

Ratchet caught the edge of Barricade’s nervous field. He stopped the other mech with one hand before Barricade could open the now-unlocked door. “Remember, you can say ‘no’ at any time.” 

Barricade nodded, slightly more confident. “I’m not worried about that,” he explained to the older mech. “I’m just not sure I can believe that Jazz actually wants to be fucked by me.” 

Ratchet gave Barricade an unexpectedly raunchy grin. “Jazz likes spike as much as any other mech I’ve met. This isn’t the first time he’s had Mirage invite somebody to fuck him until he screams.” Unfortunately, Barricade had been Mirage’s first choice, so Ratchet wouldn’t be the one getting his spike wet. Unless Jazz asked for a second round... Ratchet could hope.

Barricade could feel Ratchet’s confident field as the other mech released him. If nothing else, Barricade knew that Ratchet believed it was true. 

Barricade opened the door to the medical isolation room. What he saw had Barricade stumbling forward, not believing his eyes. 

Mirage was sitting at the head of the berth, facing the door. Jazz was draped across the end of the berth, his pert ass facing the doorway. Barricade could see the end of what had to be a vibrator protruding from the submissive’s... dominant’s... Jazz’s valve. 

Barricade didn’t notice as Ratchet closed and locked the door behind him. His focus was on how Jazz’s luscious valve lips stretched around the body of the vibrator, and how his outer node flickered alluringly beneath. 

A soft chuckle pulled his attention to Mirage. The noble mech caught Barricade’s eye and motioned him closer. 

Captivated, Barricade slowly walked past Jazz. When he was close enough Mirage reached out and wrapped one hand gently around the back of Barricade’s neck and pulled him in for a passionate, knee-shaking kiss. Barricade threw himself into Mirage’s embrace. Barricade had trusted that Mirage would come back, he was too good at what he did not to. Barricade had still been worried, though. 

The kiss continued for several minutes as Barricade poured his conflicted emotions into his field for his friend to feel. All of Barricade’s anger at being victimized, the pain of realizing that he didn’t know who he was anymore, his uncertainty as he tried to pick up the pieces; all of that slammed into Mirage’s field. Mirage met Barricade’s raw outpouring of feelings with a deep understanding and support that made Barricade finally, at long last, relax. 

As Barricade eventually, reluctantly pulled back, Mirage nipped lightly at his bottom lip. The other submissive groaned. 

Barricade jumped as Jazz suddenly squealed, writhing against the berth as the vibrator in his valve suddenly kicked into high. 

Barricade watched, entranced as the smaller mech’s form moved sinuously in a futile effort to get more sensation and possibly even an overload. The vibrator was too well programmed, however. It stopped before Jazz was even close, dropping down to a soft, subtle throb that teased him, but kept him off the edge. 

Mirage reached down to caress his master’s helm. Jazz turned his head into Mirage’s touch, eyes blank and unseeing. Jazz’s focus was captured by what was going on between his legs. 

“Do you like what you see?” Mirage asked seductively. 

Jazz purred an affirmative. 

Mirage laughed and tapped Jazz’s lips. The mech tried to suck one of Mirage’s fingers into his mouth. 

“Not you, silly. Barricade.” Mirage turned his attention back to Barricade, who froze. “Would you like to fuck this little slut?”

Barricade nodded enthusiastically. He reached out to touch Jazz, only to be stopped by Mirage. Barricade turned towards the other mech in confusion. Didn’t Mirage want him to fuck the pretty?

“Ratchet tells me that you’ve accepted a place in the Harem,” Mirage said. 

What did that have to do with anything? “Yes,” Barricade said, finally finding his voice. He hadn’t decided yet if he was going to join the Autobots, but joining the Harem seemed only natural. Though, he supposed it was just the first step towards joining the Autobots. Barricade put that thought aside. He’d deal with it when it came up.

“You’ve had the preliminary training, haven’t you?” Mirage asked rhetorically. He had Ratchet’s report. Along with Jazz, Ratchet had been in charge of teaching Barricade the basics of what he needed to know to get along with the rest of the Harem. 

Barricade nodded again.

“So you know the ping system...” Mirage prompted. 

Barricade froze, suddenly realizing what he had done wrong. He’d been invited into a scene, but forgot to double-check with everybody present. Chastised, Barricade pinged Mirage’s and Jazz’s systems. 

The replies came instantly. Fortunately for Barricade, it was an enthusiastic yes from both. He didn’t know what he’d do if one of them had rejected him. 

Relieved, Barricade looked up at Mirage hopefully. 

“Good boy,” Mirage said soothingly, placing one hand on Barricade’s cheek. “In a situation like this, you’d usually do it when entering the room.” A deviously evil look crossed Mirage’s face. “So, turn around and do it again,” he commanded, releasing his hold on Barricade. 

Jazz whimpered disappointingly as Barricade, the mech that Mirage had promised was finally going to fuck him hard, walked away on Mirage’s orders. 

Barricade obediently waited until he was standing next to the door before sending a ping. It was answered instantly. Again both replies were positive. 

Jazz made another small sound of frustration, and was quickly hushed by Mirage. 

Instead of walking back across the room, Barricade stood there, watching the two mechs on the berth. 

Mirage looked up from Jazz and noticed Barricade’s uncertainty. He straightened up. “You can back out if you’re not comfortable,” he said, concerned. 

Barricade shook his head wildly. “No. No. Not that. It’s just. Well...” 

Mirage gave Barricade a patiently expecting look. 

Barricade ducked his head. “I thought Jazz was the dominant?” Barricade blurted out. 

Mirage relaxed, realizing that Barricade’s reluctance was due to not understanding, rather than not wanting. “Jazz is my master.” Mirage looked down at the twitching mech at his feet. Jazz’s field was a maelstrom of thwarted passion as he buried his head in his crossed arms, rocking gently from side to side to encourage the spread of the gentle vibrations from his valve. “And I serve his needs.” In this case Jazz’s needs would need to wait.

“I’m confused,” Barricade said after a moment. It didn’t make sense to him. “Shouldn’t he be the one giving the orders?” 

“Just because he’s at my mercy doesn’t mean that he is any less my master,” Mirage said with a smile. “Accept it. Understanding will come in time,” he advised gently, holding out his hand to the newer mech. “For now, my master wants to be fucked until he can’t walk straight. Can you do that?”

Barricade nodded eagerly. 

Mirage waved Barricade over and pointed at the floor next to the berth. Barricade knelt obediently, if sloppily. Mirage knew that grace would come with time and training. Meanwhile, Barricade’s eagerness was refreshing. 

“Since it is your first time, we need to go over some ground rules first.” 

Jazz groaned with frustrated lust at yet another delay, reaching up to grab at Mirage’s waist. 

Mirage laughed lightly, but did not look down at his frustrated master. He knew that Jazz was playing it up. Granted, Jazz wanted to be fucked, but he wasn’t really _that_ desperate. 

Not yet. 

Still attentive, Barricade didn’t look away from Mirage. 

Mirage absently stroked Jazz’s head comfortingly as he continued to instruct Barricade. “I’m aware that you have been playing with Jazz, so you have started to learn his likes and dislikes. However, you haven’t negotiated your limits yet. Has Jazz showed you his?” 

Barricade shook his head. Jazz and Ratchet had talked about contracts — the list of kinky do’s and don’ts that were individual to each mech — but he had been waiting for Mirage to help him figure it out. 

Mirage pulled Jazz’s head back so that he could look his master in the face. His eyes were bright with overcharge and his mouth open in silent supplication, or temptation. “No more playing with Barricade until you’ve reviewed your contract with him,” Mirage said sternly. Barricade was new to this understanding of consent, and if Mirage needed to lay down the law with his master, he would. 

“If I’m not allowed to play with Barricade, who is going to fuck me?” Jazz asked, trying to keep the frustrated whine out of his voice. 

Barricade was also staring wide-eyed at Mirage. Mirage could practically feel the other submissive’s disappointment.

“Okay, until he has a contract, no playing with Barricade unless I’m there,” Mirage conceded. That way he could make sure Jazz didn’t play too rough with his new toy, at least, before Barricade was ready for it.

Mirage looked down at Barricade and tilted his head questioningly. 

Barricade nodded his agreement. 

Mirage turned back to Jazz. 

Jazz couldn’t nod with his head being held by Mirage, so he settled with an affirmative whine. 

Something deep inside Mirage relaxed when his master followed up with a private message confirming that he approved of Mirage’s decision. Jazz’s approval meant a lot to Mirage. Jazz recognized that fact and was careful to support Mirage when he made decisions, especially concerning his sexual choices. In this case Mirage was also being a good role model for Barricade. Submissives should not exist to be exploited... except if they wanted to be.

Mirage released Jazz and turned back to Barricade. “Since you aren’t familiar with everybody’s limits, you can’t be in charge of this scene.” Mirage gave Barricade a wicked grin that went straight to the kneeling mech’s interface equipment. “Not that I was planning on letting you be in charge.”

Barricade was more than okay with that.

“Listen to my orders, and you’ll get to fuck this tight pussy until you come.” The dirty words dripped from Mirage’s sinful mouth as one of his hands wandered down Jazz’s back. 

“What if I don’t?” Barricade blurted out. He wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to talk, but Mirage’s approving smile assured him that it was fine. Barricade realized his hands were balled up on his thighs. He was vibrating with sexual tension.

“We’re not playing that game today,” Mirage said lightly. “If you disobey you will be banished to the corner while I take what was yours.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Barricade muttered. 

With lightning quick reflexes Mirage leaned down and grabbed Barricade by the chin, harshly. “We are not playing that game today. And, if you hurt Jazz because you decided to push too far, I will be very, very angry,” Mirage said sternly. His suddenly upset field lashed at Barricade’s like sand scouring off paint in a high wind. “There will be times when you can play the disobedient little slut and get the fun punishments. This is not that time. Understood?” 

Barricade nodded frantically. “I understand.” This was a side of Mirage that Barricade hadn’t witnessed yet. It was more reminiscent of who Mirage had been before he had become Mirage. 

Mirage, sensing the sincerity in Barricade’s field, released the trembling mech. He pulled back, his authority settling around him like a cloak. “Good boy,” he said, running his fingers down Barricade’s throat. “Now, Jazz’s sweet valve is all warmed up and ready for you, but I think you need a little more encouragement first.”

Barricade disagreed, but he wasn’t about to disobey Mirage. 

Mirage had Barricade stand up and bend over the end of the berth next to Jazz. Now both asses were delightfully displayed as Mirage smoothly slid off the berth and stepped behind his master and his fellow toy. Mirage leaned forward and took a generous handful of each ass, avoiding the end of the vibrator sticking out of his master’s valve. He absently massaged the plating beneath his hands.

“Barricade.” 

It took a moment for Barricade to realize that Mirage was waiting for him to respond. He turned his head slightly so that he could look back at Mirage. 

“Do you have any requests?” 

Jazz groaned impatiently. In retaliation Mirage gave his demanding master’s ass a quick swat and turned the vibrator off, which made Jazz whine. 

Shyly, Barricade buried his head in his folded arms and nodded. Jazz and Ratchet had been working with him, but he still didn’t always feel comfortable asking for what he wanted. 

“What is it?” Mirage asked, leaning closer. 

“My gag,” Barricade mumbled. 

Jazz giggled and commed a confused Mirage. :It’s in my subspace,: he explained, without really explaining anything. 

Jazz being Jazz, Mirage found three gags in his subspace; a vocal suppression gag, a bit gag, and a spider gag. Mirage shivered as he handled the last. It was his favorite. He loved being trussed up in it, helpless while mechs fucked his mouth like they would a warm valve. 

Mirage laid the three gags on the berth in front of Barricade. “Which one is yours?” he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea. 

Barricade silently tapped his finger next to the bit gag. 

Mirage picked it up and inspected it, just to make sure. The gag was clean and well maintained, like Jazz kept all of his tools. The faint tooth marks were probably from Barricade’s sharp teeth. There was also a strap with a buckle meant to keep it firmly in place in the submissive’s mouth. 

Mirage slipped the gag over Barricade’s head. Barricade accepted the gag eagerly, trembling in anticipation as Mirage buckled the strap. Mirage slowly tightened it until the buckle reached the point where wear marks indicated it was commonly fastened. Once done, Mirage checked on Barricade. It seemed a bit tight to Mirage, but the fit of the gag didn’t seem to bother Barricade at all. To the contrary, his field had gone loose and floaty in a very good way.

Mirage chuckled at how sweet Barricade was being. Each member of the Harem, submissive and dominant, had their favorite kinks. Apparently this was one of Barricade’s. 

Mirage knelt smoothly behind Jazz. He checked his master’s stuffed valve for any signs of distress or damage. Jazz bucked as Mirage gently pulled the vibrator out, checking that it and Jazz’s valve were still well-lubricated and that there were no signs of energon. Mirage slid the vibrator gently back in, to Jazz’s disappointment. 

After confirming that everything was fine, along with a few extra strokes to tease Jazz, Mirage went on to prepare Barricade. 

Mirage reached underneath and placed his hand on Barricade’s groin plate. “Open up,” he commanded, softly. 

With a contented groan, Barricade’s interface planeling slid aside, baring his slick valve and finally allowing his spike to pressurize. Dim biolights blinked lazily at Mirage. Barricade was clearly turned on, but not desperate. Not yet, at least. Mirage would need to fix that. 

Mirage grinned, he loved this part. 

Mirage gripped Barricade’s hips, leaned forward, and licked a broad stripe between the lips of Barricade’s valve. Barricade squealed and bucked under Mirage’s tongue as the elegant mech expertly teased his valve lips and exterior node, wrapping his lips gently around it and sucking in a gentle rhythm. 

Jazz squirmed, clearly feeling neglected with Barricade’s uninhibited field so close. Not stopping his attack on Barricade’s valve, Mirage reached over and gave the bottom of the vibrator a smart tap, driving it further into Jazz’s valve. It bottomed out, hitting the end nodes of Jazz’s valve sharply, driving a pleased yelp from the smaller mech. 

Barricade collapsed limply as Mirage released his node and turned his attention back to Barricade’s valve lips. Skillfully Mirage used his lips, tongue, and teeth to drive Barricade into higher and higher levels of bliss, while keeping him from overloading. After several minutes of pleasurable torment, Mirage was satisfied with Barricade’s level of arousal. Lubricant liberally decorated Mirage’s face.

Barricade whined as Mirage pulled away. 

Mirage laughed as he stood up. He reached down to tap on Barricade’s shoulder. “C’mon. Up now,” he encouraged the other mech. 

Barricade did so slowly, trembling under Mirage’s hand. He wanted to lay back down and beg Mirage to not stop eating out his valve.

But that wasn’t why Barricade was here. 

“My valve, why?” Barricade asked disjointedly as Mirage guided an unsteady Barricade to stand behind Jazz. 

Jazz was writhing, stuck on the edge of arousal. He could tell that they were finally getting around to him, and he wanted to be fucked! Now! 

“It worked, didn’t it?” Mirage said, which wasn’t much of an explanation as far as Barricade was concerned. 

Barricade jumped as Mirage wrapped one arm around his waist and firmly gripped Barricade’s rampant spike. He hadn’t even noticed it, he had been so preoccupied with his valve. 

Barricade was so distracted watching Mirage’s elegant fingers curl around his spike that he barely noticed when Mirage unceremoniously pulled the vibrator out of Jazz’s valve with his other hand. Jazz’s high-pitched squeal, however, quickly got his attention, and Jazz’s empty valve held his attention.

Jazz’s valve was plump and moist. Lubricant trickled out slowly, sliding slickly over the deeply pulsating biolights that surrounded his valve and node. Barricade knew that that valve was for him, and he wanted in. 

“Hold,” Mirage commanded, using a firm grip on his spike to hold Barricade back until the other submissive gave in and stopped trying to move closer to Jazz. 

Mirage carefully released Barricade and stepped back, repeating his command for Barricade to hold still. Once he was confident that the other submissive would be obedient to his orders, Mirage agilely climbed back onto the berth.

Mirage gently raised Jazz’s head so that his master could look at him. Jazz’s eyes took a moment to focus on Mirage, however, because all of his attention was on his achingly empty valve and the mech standing motionless behind him, his spike ready to plunder Jazz’s depths. 

Mirage tipped Jazz’s face towards him so that he could kiss his master deeply. Leftover lubricant on Mirage’s lips and cheeks smeared Jazz’s face and flavored their kisses as Jazz reciprocated eagerly. 

Jazz moved aggressively to plunder Mirage’s mouth as his happy little submissive groaned in pleasure and yielded so prettily to his master’s attentions. 

Barricade shifted on his feet uncertainly as the other two mechs kissed. 

Mirage looked up and his expression was approving. :Now. Swiftly and without hesitation,: he ordered the other submissive by comm. 

Permission granted, Barricade took a firm grip on Jazz’s hips and did as Mirage had commanded. He trusted in Mirage’s understanding of Jazz’s wants and needs, and that Jazz would be able to take it. 

Jazz squealed, high pitched and startled, into Mirage’s mouth as Barricade buried himself hilt-deep in one punishing thrust. His well-prepared and lubricated valve parted easily for Barricade’s spike.

:Take him. Harder,: Mirage egged Barricade on. 

Barricade was glad to obey Mirage’s order. He didn't think he’d be able to stop now that his spike was finally buried Jazz’s warm, wet grip. 

With how close to the edge Barricade was, it only took a few body-shaking thrusts before he cried out and pulled Jazz’s frame tightly to himself as he fell into overload. 

Jazz trembled with denied lust as he felt spurt after spurt of Barricade’s warm fluids soak his valve. He had not overloaded. “More,” Jazz ordered demandingly, asserting his command over his submissives. 

Barricade looked up at Mirage questioningly, and the other submissive nodded to him. Barricade whimpered as he started thrusting again, excess lubricant squelching around his spike. After his overload he was a weird mix of oversensitive and numb. It didn’t hurt, but Barricade knew that he wouldn’t be ready to come again very soon.

“Harder,” Jazz snarled demandingly, pushing his hips back. 

Barricade had a slightly different idea. He pulled out of Jazz and stepped back far enough so that he could flip the smaller mech over so that he was face up on the berth. Jazz’s amazing flexibility came in handy as Barricade pushed Jazz’s legs towards his head, folding the smaller mech in half. Now Barricade was able to use gravity to give his thrusts extra power as he dove into the mech below him. 

Jazz writhed, happily pinned by Barricade’s relentless spiking. 

Barricade reached between their bodies, searching. 

Jazz bucked as his new submissive found his external node, and applied firm, relentless pressure. It was enough to finally throw him over the edge, screaming. Jazz shook as Barricade continued to fuck him steadily through his overload and into several smaller aftershocks. 

Barricade, still racing towards his second overload and following his previous orders, kept fucking Jazz brutally. Jazz moaned with pleasure as Barricade’s thrusts rocked his limp body.

Mirage slid off the berth and walked around to Barricade’s side. He carefully urged the now-desperate submissive off of the fuck-drunk Jazz. 

As he was pulled back back, Barricade’s spike was exposed, wet and seeping lubricant from the tip. The intense brightness of his biolights showed just how close he was to his second overload. 

Barricade’s eyes were wild and his field desperate as Mirage pulled his attention away from Jazz with a kiss before dropping to his knees. 

Mirage’s well trained throat had no trouble immediately taking Barricade’s spike to the hilt. The submissive overloaded down Mirage’s intake with a wail. 

Mirage grabbed Barricade as the mech’s legs threatened to give out on him, guiding him to collapse bonelessly on the berth next to Jazz. 

Mirage made sure that both fuck-happy mechs were content to stay still before he went to fetch warm cleanser and hand towels from the washracks. He hummed happily as he carefully and meticulously cleaned every speck of lubricant on their chassis that he could reach before throwing a warming blanket over the sated pile. 

Barricade caught Mirage’s wrist as his fellow submissive tucked the blanket around him. “You didn’t...” he said, mostly incoherently. 

Mirage smiled. “No, I didn’t. And I don’t want to.” 

Barricade didn’t understand, but wasn’t coherent enough to argue.

Mirage put away the cleaning supplies before returning to the berth. He was glad to see that, in the meantime Jazz had clearly located the command panel for the berth and expanded it enough so that it could easily fit all three of them. Also, at some point Barricade had rolled over so that he was nestled face to face with Jazz and passed out again. 

Mirage grabbed a blanket for himself and slid onto the berth behind Barricade, sandwiching the new submissive between the contented fields of his fellow submissive and his master.


	8. Unpleasant Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Split this chapter in half so I could get you something today. This half is the plot half. The next half will be porn.

When Barricade woke up a couple of hours later he was alone in the room with Mirage. He didn’t know at what point Jazz had left. 

Barricade stirred, curling up tighter under his blanket. He saw Mirage’s eyes come online as the rustling woke the other mech up. 

Barricade stared at Mirage. It was all he could do. He was finally alone with his friend and he didn’t know what to say. 

Mirage raised up the edge of his blanket with one arm. 

Barricade quickly slid across the berth and into Mirage’s arms, burying his face into Mirage’s chest. He shook as Mirage wrapped his arms around him in a secure, comforting hold. As the blanket settled over their heads, Barricade could pretend that they were hidden away, secret, just the two of them.

Of course, Barricade had been living in a room like this for the last few weeks, so he knew that they weren’t really alone. He’d discovered the cameras positioned throughout his room, and he could see many of the same cameras in here. Still... this was his life now. 

“It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Mirage said sympathetically. 

Barricade nodded, his helm scraping against Mirage’s chest. The white and blue mech did not complain, even though his freshly repaired wounds probably hurt. 

“All of a sudden you wake up and it feels like you aren’t yourself anymore. How you used to behave, your personality, everything that made you, you is just...” Mirage trailed off. “Suddenly you don’t know who you are anymore.” 

Barricade trembled in Mirage’s arms as the other mech laid out the secret words he couldn’t say himself.

As much as Barricade somehow, inexplicably, completely trusted Jazz, his mind told him that he shouldn’t trust Jazz. Barricade instinctually wanted to trust Jazz with everything, but at the same time he couldn’t, and the dichotomy was tearing him apart. There hadn’t been anybody else he could trust to talk to. Not even the medic, Ratchet. However, even among all the changes he had woken up with, Barricade knew one thing: he knew he could trust Mirage.

“Why...? How...?” Barricade gasped. His thin voice wavered, the words barely coherent. Now that Mirage was here and Barricade could finally open up, he couldn’t despite the torrent of words stuck in his vocalizer.

Mirage gently shushed Barricade, running a reassuring hand down his side. His field was calm as he focused on steadying his friend. 

Barricade leaned into Mirage’s steady field and gentle touches, and gradually his trembling slowed. 

“Did Jazz explain anything?” Mirage asked quietly. He wanted to understand what Barricade had been told before he started his explanation. 

Barricade nodded, his cheek pressed up against Mirage’s chest. He was so close he imagined that he could hear the other mech’s spark, buried deep and protected within his chest. “He showed me the mark on your armor... your old armor. Umbra’s armor. He asked me if I knew anything about it.” Barricade was starting to tremble again, remembering.

Mirage continued to stroke Barricade comfortingly. “Anything else?”

“He said that I didn’t have to call him ‘master’ and I had choices to make. He said that I could be his, or somebody else's, but I don’t want to be somebody else’s, but I don’t know if I want to be his, but I know I want to be with you, and you’re his, but will I be an Autobot, or a Neutral, or a Decepticon, or, or, or,” Barricade stammered, his thoughts as tangled as his words.

Mirage used a tried and true method and kissed Barricade to get him to stop his troubled rambling. Instead of passion, though, Mirage focused on reassuring Barricade with a kiss that was soft and sweet. 

Barricade whimpered softly into Mirage’s mouth. The sound was not amorous, but anxious. 

As Mirage continued to kiss Barricade, he shot off a quick indignant comm to Jazz. 

His master’s answer was appropriately contrite. Jazz was willing to talk to Barricade about his options and help clear up his confusion, however Mirage declined. Bringing Jazz into the conversation now would not help Barricade. It was best for Mirage to deal with it on his own. Jazz should continue to wait in the observation room.

Barricade broke off the kiss and buried his head in Mirage’s neck. “Why did he do this?” Barricade said plaintively, still upset. “And why do I trust him?” He curled even closer to Mirage. 

“I can answer that for you,” Mirage said evenly. 

“You can?” Barricade looked hopefully up at Mirage. He had been reluctant to ask Jazz.

“To better understand, though, I’ll need to explain what happened to me, because I went through the same thing.” 

Mirage used tactical caresses to gently extract Barricade from his position buried in his neck. He urged the other mech to instead look him in the face. It helped Barricade calm down, even if he didn’t entirely relax.

“You remember when I left for my last assignment as a Decepticon?” Mirage asked. 

Barricade nodded. At the time it hadn’t been remarkable. Due to missions, both Barricade and Umbra were in and out of the base at unpredictable times, especially Umbra. The day Umbra had left for the last time had been otherwise normal. Nothing had been unusual, at least, until Umbra had never come back again.

Mirage sighed. There was no better way to say this. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I had been assigned to try to kill Optimus Prime,” he confessed.

Barricade jolted upright in surprise. He ended up pulling the blanket with him, and it pooled in a tent around Barricade’s body. Barricade had to swipe the blanket out of his way so he could see Mirage again. 

Barricade was disturbed by what he had heard, and for once it wasn’t because of Jazz. Optimus Prime was a prime target for the Decepticons. That meant that he was heavily guarded by the Autobots. Not to mention that any mech that got past his bodyguards had to deal with Optimus Prime himself. The mech went toe to toe with Megatron, he was clearly no pushover. “They wanted you dead,” he said flatly. 

Barricade’s confusion was rapidly being overcome with undirected rage at the unknown mech who had decided that his dearest friend was expendable. 

“Probably,” Mirage said, unphased. For him it was not only old news, but a past life. He pulled the blanket off of Barricade’s head and urged the darker mech to lay down beside him again. Barricade reluctantly laid back down. His field seethed with his unsettled emotions.

Mirage pulled the blanket back over them, trying to invoke the closeness that had previously calmed Barricade before resuming his story. “I infiltrated. Jazz caught me, and he started to interrogate me,” Mirage said. 

The sparse description left out a lot of details, like the nights that Umbra and Jazz had spent in a heated cat and mouse game of lies, seduction, and dominance. Umbra had always assumed he was dominant. At least he had, until Jazz got ahold of him. Looking back, that time had probably set the tone for Mirage’s current relationship with his master.

Barricade shuddered, remembering his time with Jazz in the interrogation room with an uneasy mix of loathing and desire.

Mirage gave Barricade a knowing look. Barricade’s conflicting emotions were clear in his field. “How did he break you?” Mirage asked curiously, though he already had a good idea how.

“Pain,” Barricade whispered, turning onto his back, away from Mirage’s knowing eyes. “Pain so pure it was pleasure, and I couldn’t tell where the line between them was.” 

Just like Mirage had predicted. 

Jazz was going to love Barricade, Mirage knew. Part of Mirage was jealous that Barricade’s kinks would mesh so much better with Jazz’s darkest desires than Mirage’s did. However, the feeling was fleeting and quickly overwhelmed by the part of Mirage that was very eager to watch as his master found his pleasure together with his fellow submissive. 

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying pain,” Mirage said soothingly. Barricade’s life would be easier the sooner he came to terms with who he was now. Hating himself for his kinks would not help the process. “Everybody has their preferences.”

Barricade laid there for a moment, staring up at the blanket and quiet in thought. 

Mirage waited. 

Barricade turned his head back towards Mirage. “How did he break you?”

“He broke me using energon deprivation.” Mirage laid out the stark truth calmly. It was torture, but Jazz had had much more invasive methods at his disposal. After all, Jazz could have just hooked Mirage up to a cortical psychic patch, brute force hacked his firewalls, and downloaded his brain, leaving a husk behind. 

“He starved you?” Barricade hissed angrily. 

“Yes,” Mirage said matter of factly, having long ago come to terms with what had happened. “He also practiced orgasim denial on me,” he said with a raunchy grin. Mirage sometimes regretted that he didn’t recall much of his time at Jazz’s hands. He was sure it had been a blast. 

“What! Why?!” Barricade’s voice hit heights that were normally not considered possible for someone with his vocalizer settings. 

Mirage winced. “I might have been sleeping around with Jazz before I attempted to kill Optimus Prime,” he confessed. 

“You were sent on a mission to kill the head of the Autobots and you decided that fucking around with the Autobot third in command and head of special operations was a good idea?!” Barricade said incredulously. “What the fuck were you thinking?! No. No. Don’t tell me. Thinking with your spike first is very much something you would have done.” 

It was true enough, but Mirage sidestepped that discussion. He needed to get back on track, and there were more disturbing revelations to help Barricade come to terms with.

“During the interrogation Jazz figured out that I had been reprogrammed.”

“What?” Barricade’s voice was dangerously serious.

Mirage shrugged his shoulders, trying to keep his previously calm attitude for Barricade’s sake. He hadn’t thought it would be this difficult to say. Mirage had thought he was over the worst of the lingering trauma. “That’s what we think the symbol branded into the underside of my armor means. Someone, for whatever reason, decided that they wanted to reprogram themselves a sex slave. Apparently, you were one too.”

Barricade didn’t know if he was more furious or confused. “I think I would remember being a sex slave,” he said defensively. 

Mirage shook his head. “No, you wouldn’t remember.” 

“You?” Barricade couldn’t ask the rest of the question, but it was enough. The implications were horrifying. 

“At some point during the interrogation Jazz triggered my programming. I don’t remember a thing between then and when I woke up after I was broken.” 

Mirage’s field was under tight control, but Barricade was still his closest friend. Some things hadn’t changed that much between Umbra and Mirage. Barricade could hear himself softly keening, almost sobbing. 

Mirage had spent a lot of time with Jazz and the others, first proving that he’d fundamentally changed, and later getting the emotional and physical support he needed. Barricade's fresh reactions were threatening his hard-won control, however.

Mirage pulled Barricade into a tight hug. “That’s why Jazz needed to break you,” Mirage whispered hoarsely. “That’s why I encouraged you to submit to his hand. After Jazz broke me, I was free.”

“I don’t...” Mirage paused. “I’m not going to tell you that it’s going to be easy, because it isn’t. Right now you’re fractured. You’ll need to piece yourself together, and some days it will still feel like there are pieces missing.”

It was hard for Barricade to hear, but what Mirage was describing felt right somewhere deep inside him. Unlike Jazz’s practically non-existent explanation, Mirage’s made sense to Barricade. Mirage understood.

It would take time for Barricade to fully accept what had happened to him. While Barricade was glad that he had the support of somebody who had been through it before, he also mourned that his friend had even had to walk the same path.

“What if we hadn’t been found? What if we hadn’t been broken?” Barricade asked.

“I don’t know,” Mirage said, and that fact now terrified him. 

Before Barricade they had assumed that Mirage was a one off result of one person’s twisted obsession. But now there were two of them. It naturally led to the question: Where there more? Mirage was sure there was.

“We don’t know who did it. We don’t know why they did it. We don’t even know how long or how often they might have used me as a slave. We tried to examine the code for clues, but we couldn’t find anything conclusive. The programming doesn’t exactly leave a record every time it is triggered.” 

It was hard to say. Mirage didn’t want to hurt his friend — at least more than he’d already had to — but Barricade needed to know. “In fact, they think that the coding was always operating at some level of my consciousness the entire time I had it. It was never really off or on. It could have been messing with my personality the entire time. Without knowing when it was implanted, there is no way to know for sure. There also isn’t any way to know what we were like without the code’s influence. For all we know, I — we — might even have been created with it.” 

Barricade moved first, throwing himself into Mirage’s arms again. The two mechs huddled together on the berth, under the blanket, keening softly as they mourned the loss of who they had been. 

Some time later, after they had finally cried it out to the point that they laid there unmoving, Barricade moved. His body was stiff. It felt like forever. 

“How can we find who did this?” Barricade asked. His mind hadn’t been still. Barricade had been thinking, running through his memories of his life. He had been trying to find the blank spots that may hint at a pattern, at who had done this to him, but he couldn’t find anything. Mirage was right, and that frightened him. 

Mirage shook his head slowly. “We never found anything before, but then, there’s a war going on and we thought I was the only one. Now... with more data, we have more to work with. And knowing that there may be others like us gives us even more of a reason to keep searching.” 

Barricade thought about it. The coding and the brand were the two things that separated Mirage and him from normal mechs. Barricade couldn’t find anything wrong in his own change logs. (Inspecting those was better left to a medic, anyway.) So he turned his attention to the brands. “I didn’t have this armor when I joined the Decepticons. That came after,” Barricade said, trying to trace back dates in his head.

“Neither did I,” Mirage admitted. “I put together a timeline for when I’ve had armor replaced, but we didn’t have any way to identify one occurance as suspicious without investigating all of them.” The effort needed, both in time and in people needed to infiltrate Decepticon medical stations and supply lines, was prohibitive. Now that they could cross-correlate Mirage’s and Barricade’s histories, they might be able to find some point of commonality to start at.

“That might narrow our options down, but not by much,” Barricade admitted. Unlike Umbra, he had been a frontline warrior and scout. It was not unusual for him to end up with the medics much more often than Umbra had. 

“Send me your timeline, and I’ll add it to the information for this case,” Mirage asked in a completely normal voice. Such procedures were routine when investigating. It was professional, so he could remove the emotion from the exchange.

Barricade did so without thought. He trusted Mirage. Speaking of trust... “Why did I trust Jazz immediately? He hurt me. He tortured me. And I trust him.”

“It’s an after effect of the programming. At least, I think that’s the most likely explanation,” Mirage said. 

“I thought breaking took care of the programming?” Barricade asked apprehensively. He didn’t want to be broken a second time if the first time didn’t end up working. 

Mirage reached up and cradled the back of Barricade’s head in his hand. Barricade didn’t resist as Mirage pulled him close. 

“Broken is not the same as gone,” Mirage said softly, sadly.

Barricade realized that that meant Mirage had... “You too?”

Mirage nodded again and hugged Barricade. “It’s just a theory, but I think it’s because Jazz was the last master we encountered before our programming was broken.”

“Or the first we encountered after breaking,” Barricade pointed out. That actually made more sense to him. The vulnerability, the feeling of his mind being torn open and exposed. He could see how it would have been easy for Jazz to manipulate that period of suggestibility, even unknowingly. 

“It’s possible,” Mirage conceded with a wry twist of his lips. “As I said, I don’t remember much before I was broken. Afterwards...”

“You were too fucked up to know which way was up,” Barricade finished Mirage’s thought. 

Mirage didn’t say anything. It was as good as a confession for Barricade. 

There were many things still bothering Barricade, but there was only one that was top of mind right now. “Mirage,” Barricade said mildly. “How did I come to be here? I wasn’t particularly high-ranked. I should have just been put in the stockades, possibly traded in a prisoner exchange. Not on a table in a SpecOps interrogation room.” 

Such a simple question with such a thorny answer. “I needed to practice my interrogation techniques, and I saw you in the latest batch of prisoners, so I took my chance and pulled you out,” Mirage confessed, carefully not looking Barricade in the face. 

Unexpectedly, Barricade laughed. “Only you would turn an interrogation into an orgy,” he teased. 

Mirage huffed. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

Barricade’s laughter cut off as suddenly as it started. “You were trying to trigger the programming weren’t you?”

Mirage grimaced. Barricade knew him too well. “Trying. I don’t know exactly how Jazz did it to me.”

“I want a copy of recording of your interrogation,” Barricade said unashamedly. “I bet you it’d be the hottest porn vid in either faction.”

Mirage shoved at Barricade lightly, not that he had much leverage to push the well-armored soldier. 

Barricade narrowed his eyes at Mirage. “You didn’t just happen to stumble across the fact that I was programmed. You knew,” he accused. 

“I didn’t know,” Mirage defended his choices. “I suspected, but I didn’t know for sure. I hoped, though...” Mirage admitted in a small voice. “I wanted my friend back.”

Barricade held the elegant mech tightly. His new frame was very different from Umbra’s minibot frame. Mirage’s field, his mannerisms, were also different. But there was something deep down that was still recognizably his friend. “I’m here now,” Barricade said, and it was his turn to soothe Mirage. 

“Thanks,” Mirage said, his voice muffled in Barricade’s shoulder. 

“You’re still a manipulative little shit, though.”

Mirage hiccuped. “You know me too well.”

“I forgive you. Besides,” Barricade admitted, “the sex is mindblowing.”

Mirage smacked Barricade’s back for that and Barricade laughed, making an exaggerated moaning sound. Mirage pushed at Barricade indignantly, and the two mechs wrestled lightly, tumbling across the berth before stopping short of the edge. 

Barricade leaned over the side of the berth and picked up the blankets up off the floor. (The one that had been on top of them had fallen off during the tussle.) 

Mirage got in a casual grope while Barricade was bent over the edge of the berth. Barricade playfully pushed back into his hand, and threw a blanket over Mirage’s head. 

They laid back down next to each other, this time each with their own blanket. 

“How do you know the programming is really broken?” Barricade asked lazily. The emotional highs and lows, not to mention the multiple rounds of mind blowing sex, were dragging on his stamina. 

“Ratchet checked you over before the breaking, confirming the presence of the coding. Afterwards he would have checked to make sure it was gone,” Mirage explained. He had witnessed Ratchet perform the first check, and trusted that the medic would have performed the second.

“So we’re trusting that they’re telling the truth when they say it’s gone.” It was hard not to be pessimistic, but Barricade thought that even Mirage had to admit that it sounded too good to be true. 

“Ratchet can show you the before and after scans, but yes, I trust them.”

“Trust them.” Barricade sounded skeptical.

“Give them a chance,” Mirage responded. “It took a lot of work for Jazz and I to get to where we are today.” 

Barricade nodded and snuggled up to Mirage. “Are you happy?” he asked simply. 

“Yes,” Mirage answered. “I am happy.”

“I’ll give it a chance,” Barricade conceded. 

Mirage just gave a happy hum and dropped into a doze as Barricade watched his friend rest.


End file.
